


Upside Down You're Turning Me {You're Giving Love Instinctively}

by HartwinMakethMan



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016), Stranger Things - Fandom
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Child Neglect, Dissociation, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Nightmares, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Season/Series 02, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-14 00:56:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 52,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12996339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HartwinMakethMan/pseuds/HartwinMakethMan
Summary: 4 months after the Gate is closed the team struggles to return to normal, one day at a time-- especially Steve.Steve is lost and confused. What else is new? Maybe it's the loss of Nancy, and making their awkward way back to friendship again. Maybe it's how he somehow acquired four children that have imprinted on him like goddamn ducklings. Maybe it's fucking college, or his lack of parents, or the Upside Down that can't fucking STAY DOWN. It's definitely Billy Hargrove, though. And Steve can't tell if he's helping him or hurting him.Whatever it is, it only gets worse when Steve starts waking up with injuries from demodogs no one can see and everyone gets roped back into saving his ass and banishing the Upside Down for good.





	1. Fight or Flight

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Expecting the Unexpected](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12704643) by [dabblingwithwords](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dabblingwithwords/pseuds/dabblingwithwords). 



> This is a funky little thing that started as a gen oneshot about Steve's PTSD and found family, and became a monster of a Harringrove Headcanon Palooza. Bear with me, here. It was inspired by dabblingwithwords's Expecting the Unexpected, which everyone should go read, because it's amazing and perfect. 
> 
> Title is from the Diana Ross song, Upside Down (TOO PERFECT, IK)
> 
> Leave a comment if you liked it and want more!

Things happened slowly, but somehow also all at once for Steve-- well, for everyone-- after the Gate was closed and they could start picking up the pieces of their ordinary lives. Mike said something in the car one day on the ride to school, about how they didn't need to worry anymore. They were safe. Steve had to swallow around a scoff every time one of them said it. He wanted to believe it so damn bad, but there was just no way. It seemed like it would always come back, the Upside Down couldn't just stay down.

Or maybe the bad feelings were all in his head. That's what Nancy had said, and Dustin too. Hopper had told him it was called "PTSD", slapping him on the shoulder with half of an uncomfortable smile. Steve didn't tell anyone else about any of it after that. Sure, it was all in his head... That just made him feel like he was going insane.

His house had been nearly unbearable since the day he'd come home. It was silent and cold and felt like those damn tunnels at night. The shadows had claws and faces made of fanged petals, and he was all alone all the time. He nearly jumped into his car at any opportunity to get out of the house, to drive his little gaggle of noisy brats where they needed to go.

"I don't care if it's 3 o clock in the fucking morning, Buddy-- I don't want you riding your bikes around in the dark." He'd said to Dustin at least 800 times since life was supposed to go on. The kid had just given him this dumb little smile. He was so damn observant, Dustin knew something was up, but he just said:

"Yeah, okay. Thanks Steve."

The swell of affection he felt for these dumb kids threatened to swallow him up sometimes, and Steve couldn't help but laugh to himself and wonder how the Hell this became his life.

So what if he hadn't slept properly a single night since that night at the Byers. So what if he had nightmares that were so bad he'd actually woken up and retched over the side of his bed. So what if he turned on every TV and radio in his house just for the sake of the noise, because no one was home, no one was ever home, and Steve was losing his fucking mind.

Maybe it was all in his head, but that wasn't a consolation anymore.

It was about three months after the Gate and it's shitshow, when he went from just having dreams and hearing things to the sudden shutdowns that could happen at any given time. They were what scared him the most at this point. He could be doing anything: doing dishes, trying to focus on homework, taking a shower. And then he'd just stop, shut down and stare into space. He'd "wake up" after a while (sometimes hours later), with his throat tight and tear tracks drying on his face. Luckily, it had never happened while driving the kids, or at school at all. At least, never bad enough to garner attention in the halls.

"Steve?"

Nancy's voice barely reached him, seemingly heard from far away in his foggy brain, but it was enough for him to snap out of his thoughts and look over at her.

"Oh, hey Nance." he cleared his dry throat, enforcing the greeting with some extra energy that he didn't really have.

"Hey-- are you okay?" her eyes were so huge and bright with concern. A couple of months ago, it would have broken his heart all over again that he wasn't the one who got to kiss that expression off of her face anymore. Somehow, though, those messy feelings had shifted. He missed her friendship more than anything-- she was such a good friend. Things were still awkward, but they were working their way back into each others lives, and it wasn't just the two of them. Steve and Jonathan were closer than they'd ever been (which wasn't saying much, but they were talking, throwing the rumor mill into a whirlwind at Hawkins High. Steve didn't give a shit, he just wanted to graduate). They kind of had to stick together now, after they faced down a secret apocalypse together not once, but twice.

Steve tried to ignore the part of his brain that told him they talked to him out of pity. It wasn't like they could avoid him, what with him becoming what was essentially the personal chauffeur of their little brothers. Steve tried not to think about that.

God, he was fucking pathetic.

"Earth to Steve Harrington-- you've been standing here for, like, five whole minutes." Nancy was still there.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine... Just got distracted." he shrugged. She clearly didn't buy it, and Steve was a shit liar anyway, but she didn't continue to press the matter. The relief of that loosened something in his chest that he hadn't known was tight.

"You're still coming to Hopper's coming up, right?"

"Yup." How could he forget? It wasn't do a while yet, but Mike never stopped talking about it. "Gotta cart around all those little brats." he shot her a grin that almost felt real before ducking into his math class, feeling exhausted as the smile dropped from his face when he was out of her sight.

Math was one of the three classes he had with Billy Hargrove. Billy fucking Hargrove. Suddenly, everything in him felt like lead.

Billy hadn't been bothering him like he usually would-- the kids said the same thing. Apparently the idea of a nail bat to the nuts was enough to make a lasting impression, even on a psycho like Hargrove. Max had had few complaints in the past few months, Lucas said he wouldn't even make eye contact. Steve, though, felt like he was constantly being watched whenever Billy was around. It had started right after that night at the Byers's house, when rumors were flying about the state of Steve Harrington's face. He'd gone about his day as usual, trying to ignore the whispers, when he'd caught Billy admiring his goddamn handiwork. But, when they locked eyes, he didn't get one of his unhinged smiles or shitty comments-- he looked almost like he was going to be sick.

Billy never stepped up to claim his prize as the guy that brutalized the former King of Hawkins High. Which was totally out of character for the guy, assuming that Steve knew his character at all. But, in a weird way, he felt like he did. Kind of. Not enough to know why the bastard was fucking staring him down all the time. It was unsettling to say the least, and while he never physically pushed him around anymore (except basketball, which the very idea of made Steve want to fucking throw up), Steve almost wished he would.

Instead, he just felt that hot, menacing blue stare bore into him at every turn at school. It made Steve feel like he was going to combust, jumpy and electrified.

His inner Dustin raised an eyebrow at that invasive thought, and Steve shook his head, pushing it away. This wasn't the good kind of electricity. It wasn't. This was a fucking fight or flight response, and Steve didn't even know if he was being attacked or not.

The rest of the day passed in a fog. It was like he was watching someone else live his life, and if Steve had the energy, he would be way more terrified of that than he actually felt. But, terrified was like his new normal, so maybe that was why he couldn't really tell.

Basketball was shit, and Coach was yelling at him more and more about getting his head in the game. Steve kind of hated basketball-- had he ever liked it? He couldn't remember. He definitely hated the showers, though.

Billy was always at the shower head directly to his right. Always. It was like his unassigned assigned shower head for the sake of tormenting Steve, and nobody else ever went there. He wondered absently if Hargrove had held some sort of meeting, threatened the rest of the team to leave that spot open. It was ridiculous, no way anyone could get away with that without being called a queer or worse, but Steve still felt a prickle of heat beneath his skin at the thought.

Maybe it was a fever. With how little he slept, Steve was probably getting sick.

A whistle cut into his (lack of) thoughts, and suddenly he was back at his gym locker, half dressed in just his jeans. Even his hair was mostly dry. What the fuck?

He looked around, and he was just about the only one still there. Just Steve Harrington spacing out for the millionth time in 24 hours, getting watched by Billy fucking Hargrove like he was about to explode or something.

"You still in there, Harrington?" Hargrove continued their staring contest as he took a couple steps closer.

"What's it to you?" He wasn't completely sure where the anger came from, but Holy Shit did he suddenly want a fight. Billy raised an eyebrow, face going stony and impassive like it always did right before things all went to Hell.

"What'd you say to me?"

"Fuck off, Hargrove. I told you to go fuck yourself, okay?" Steve didn't really sound like himself as he kicked this goddamn hornet's nest, too shrill and desperate. Billy was in his face in less than a second, fists on his bare chest and smelling like cigarettes and cologne. His eyes were bright and fiery, so different from Nancy's concern and pity.

"Look here, Princess-- I've beaten peoples asses for less, but I'm getting a feeling" the uneven surface of the locker dug into his back and it hurt "that that's exactly what you want. Huh, Harrington?"

He paused, but Steve just glared back at him, hoping it came off more menacing than it felt-- his throat burned like he was going to cry, and like Hell he was doing that right now. Heat pulsed under his skin. Billy searched his face and Steve found himself wondering what he could possibly be looking for.

And then he slammed him into the lockers again.

"I catch you, zoned out to fucking Mars for damn near a half a fucking hour, and this is the thanks I get? Suddenly, you wanna fight me?" Steve said nothing again, and Billy let out a long breath, like a dragon that had decided against breathing fire, and deflated just a little. "You look like shit, Pretty Boy. Get some fucking sleep."

And suddenly, Steve was alone again, pulsing with rage and adrenaline and maybe something else. But, that was nothing. He was just tired and losing his damn mind. Shocker.

The ducklings were already crowded around his car when he hurried out to the parking lot.

"Dude, where've you been?" Dustin called out from about twenty feet.

"Yeah, its freezing out here!" that was Mike.

He stumbled through apologies as he unlocked the car and cranked the heat as everyone clambered inside. In Indiana, it didn't matter that it was technically spring-- it was fucking cold out. He told them some bullshit story about Coach needing to talk to him after practice that even Dustin seemed to believe, and it seemed like all was forgotten within the first five minutes of the drive.

"Did he really?"

"Yeah, it was, like, so weird, Man..."

"Hey-- what's all that whispering back there?" Steve cut into the conversation between the three boys squished into his backseat (it wasn't that bad, Will was so tiny that he took up practically half the space). When these kids started whispering, bad things started happening.

"Oh, Billy Hargrove actually talked to Lucas today." Dustin clarified like he was talking about the weather. Steve nearly swerved off the road, and Dustin yelled at him like he was his mom or something.

"What?" Worst case scenarios ran a mile a minute through his head, and Steve tried to scan Lucas Sinclair for visible injuries through the rear view mirror without driving them into a tree.

"Better than that, Man. He apologized. Like, it even seemed real." Lucas continued, breathless with excitement and disbelief. "He just came up to me and Max at recess and said it. Like, I still don't like the guy-- but he just said that it hadn't really been anything personal. He told us to keep our heads down, though, whatever that means... She seemed to get it, but he lost me there." Lucas and the rest of the boys continued to babble on about their day at school, and Steve drove them home while lost in thought. He tried to picture Billy Hargrove at middle school recess, giving Lucas and Max a sincere, real apology, and he came up empty.

Soon, it was just him and Dustin Henderson again, the last stop on the list of drop offs.

"Steve?"

"Yeah, Man?" There was only silence, and the mood in the car changed. "Dustin, are you okay?"

"You know you can talk to us, right?"

Steve's breathing seemed to stop, his voice caught in his throat "W-What? What're you talking about, I'm fine."

He spared a glace at the kid, and the look on his face would've been comical if Steve still had a real sense of humor.

"When did you sleep last?"

"Last night."

"Yeah, okay, I totally believe that, the bags under your eyes don't betray you at all--"

"What? What the Hell are you talking about? Who even says shit like that?" Honestly, when had this become his life? Dustin was looking at him again, though, and he was burning holes into the side of Steve's head as he clenched his jaw and focused on the road. Steve looked straight ahead, pointedly ignoring him until they pulled up in front of Dustin's house.

"Steve, I--"

"No, listen: I'm having trouble sleeping, I think all of us are. Of course we would. But, I'm fine, and I don't need you worrying about me, okay?" He finally met the kid's eyes and waited until he got a nod "Okay. Now, get to steppin' Kid, get out of my car."

He thought about Dustin all the way home, and missed the chatter of the kids almost immediately after walking in his door. Steve stood in the foyer of his own house for a minute, and felt like a stranger there.

Shrugging off the feeling as much as he could, Steve started on his nightly routine-- all the TVs blasting, all the radios on. Homework got done (mostly), dinner got made and eaten (kind of), dishes were done and the kitchen scrubbed within an inch of actually glowing (he had nothing better to do). He ignored the persistent feeling that he was being watched, like he was being hunted.

Like when Billy watched him in math class, in english, and from the shower next to him. But, worse. More like a faceless beast in a tunnel that feels alive--

He turned on all the lights in the house and sat on the floor in his room with his nail-studded bat under his bed. It was still stained with monster blood.

Steve didn't remember falling asleep, but somehow _he was back in the gym locker room. Billy Hargrove had his back pressed into the locker behind him, breathing Steve's air and staring at him like he was going to eat him alive._

_Steve wanted to move, to get away from the callused, warm hands on his bare chest, and put a world of space between them. But, he found himself leaning into the touch, his heart racing at the way Billy grinned at him. It was softer than usual, like he cared, almost. It was like Billy Hargrove actually gave a fuck, and it filled Steve with a tide of heat like he'd been struck by lightning._

_Electricity._

_Fuck._

_As quickly as it started, though, the scene changed. Everything went cold and damp and dark. The one beam of light in the slimy otherworld of the Hawkins High Boys Locker Room was directly above. A rope was hanging down from the hastily dug hole in the ceiling, and the kids were there, looking terrified and calling to him._

_The squishy, wet ground began to tremble, and Billy looked at him with an indescribable expression. The kids yelled. Steve's throat started to close up as the torrent of demodogs came rushing at the two of them._

_Steve meant to say "Look out" or "Get behind me", but he couldn't breathe, and the demodogs weren't running to anything but them this time. One of the creatures slammed into Billy and he let out a ragged scream that blended with the kids above and Steve couldn't protect them. He couldn't save any of them, and Billy was screaming, he was dying, and Steve was pinned to the wall like Billy's warm hands were still there._

_There was agony as a demodog slammed into him and_ Steve woke up, gasping for breath and retching up the little dinner he'd eaten.

It was 2 am. Earlier than usual.

He was dragging his feet at school the next day, but, he was barely there anyway. Dustin glanced over at him worriedly from the passenger seat every 30 seconds like clockwork as they drove to school. Steve took to counting down each interval to keep himself from pulling over and strangling the little shit. Nancy and Jonathan tried to hide their concern at lunch, but Nancy wasn't really trying, and Jonathan was the only person who was a worse liar than Steve. Billy Hargrove's stupidly blue eyes bore into him from across every classroom and every hallway and Steve was getting really fucking sick of being stared at.

But he couldn't meet the bastard's gaze. No staring contests today, he could still hear the other boy screaming in his head, and feel the warmth of his hands pressing him to the lockers. He fucking hated the prick.

Basketball was a blur. Steve tried to avoid Billy on the court, skirting around him and turning on his heel. It probably looked to everyone else like he was literally just running away from Billy Hargrove without even the context of the game. Which, he kind of was. Steve didn't care, but Billy certainly seemed to.

"What in the fuck was that, Harrington?" He very nearly slammed Steve's fingers into his locker when he shut it, glowering like he actually meant to kill him this time. "Huh? You running away from me now, like some little girl?" Most of the team was gone now, and those that were left started scurrying around to finish up and get out as quickly as possible. Watching Billy beat up Steve would usually be entertaining for them, but when he was this pissed off, it was about as fun as being in a nuclear blast zone.

Steve still didn't look at him, just trying to collect the scattered remnants of his thoughts as he was rapidly left alone in the locker room with the asshole radiating heat next to him.

"Hey-- I'm talking to you, Pretty Boy! What's your deal?" he shoved at Steve until he faced him and he struck out at Billy without thinking, hitting him in the shoulder with a solid thwacking sound.

"Maybe I just want to be left the fuck alone, Dipshit! Maybe I'm sick of you following my every move like Hannibal fuckin' Lecter." Steve caught him off guard and took advantage, pushing Billy back once, twice, three times before the other boy seemed to catch up with what was happening. "If you've got something to say to me, say it, Asshole. Cus I'm done with being your entertainment through class--"

Billy cut him off with a punch in the gut that was more disorienting than strictly painful. Steve didn't even have the time to think about why the Hell Billy was pulling his punches when he ended up back against the lockers, both of his wrists pinned above his head in one hand. His grip was viciously tight, and Steve struggled for a moment before the fight drained right out of him.

He was so fucking tired.

"Yeah, I've got something to say, Harrington." Billy's voice was low and deadly, and Steve knew he was gonna get it this time. "What the fuck has been goin' on in your head lately? Cus, frankly, you're freaking me the fuck out with your spacey little episodes and the way you walk around like some kind of zombie. It's like something happened to you-- I wanna know what."

His heart was hammering in his chest, and Steve knew Billy could probably feel it in his wrist, but he tried to cover it up with a dumb little smirk. "Careful, Hargrove-- you almost sound like you care." His voice shook, ruining any semblance of false bravado, but he said something that struck a cord. Billy's face changed to something hard and impassable, and Steve braced himself for impact.

Billy kissed him with such strength and urgency, he may as well have punched him. Steve felt like the ground dropped away beneath him. Suddenly, there was nothing left to anchor him but Billy fucking Hargrove, biting his bottom lip against a locker with his hands pinned above his head. Everything was hot, blood was coursing through Steve's veins, heart pounding in his ears, and something in him melted when Billy went gentle at the end, cradling his jaw with his free hand for just a second before pulling away a scant little inch.

"I don't give a shit about you, Princess." Their breath mingled in the tense space, and there was something deep down that tugged at Steve's heart and the words nearly made him laugh.

"Yeah, me neither, Asshole." He felt giddy. It was definitely from the sleep deprivation, and nothing else. "Come over tonight?"

"Yeah, okay."


	2. The Not-So-Mysterious Bruise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, couple things:
> 
> First, THANK YOU for the comments, they are so great! I love the feedback. Hearing from you really gets the gears turning! 
> 
> Second, this chapter is the calm before the storm, but simultaneously is very dark. At the end. I wrote Steve's dream last night, and I actually scared myself. Consider yourself warned, it's kinda gross and disturbing. 
> 
> Third, after this there will be a fun, cute chapter with the kids. This isn't just heartbreaking, I promise. 
> 
> Leave a comment if you like it! Thanks so much!

Billy had a toothbrush in Steve's bathroom. 

Billy had a coffee mug in Steve's kitchen.

Billy's clothes were pretty consistently strewn around Steve's bedroom floor.

Steve's bed was far too empty and far too cold without the naked Billy that was in it pretty much every night. 

It had been two weeks since Billy fucking Hargrove had kissed him in the locker room, and then come over to his house when his family had gone to sleep. That night, he'd pressed Steve into the sheets and kissed him breathless, fucked him until he saw stars, sucked his cock down his throat and looked up at him through his thick eyelashes. 

For the first few days, they'd fuck and then Billy would leave after a shower, saying "This doesn't mean I give a shit, Princess." and roaring away in his camaro. 

Then, on the sixth night, Billy came by and things were different. He had a set of nasty bruises on his ribs, a set to his jaw that meant business and a red rimmed, closed off look in his eyes. Steve mentally prepared himself for the other boy to be more aggressive than usual, and really been thrown for a loop when Billy had cupped his cheek so fucking gently and kissed him like the world was ending. Steve's heart fluttered and melted into Billy's that night, and when he touched him he was sure to match the gentleness.

Billy still flinched, and Steve pulled away to say "Jesus Christ, what happened to you?" 

Billy just shook his head and kissed him harder, more of his characteristic lip biting and shoving, but Steve was adamant. He took the upper hand and backed the other boy against the wall. At first the other boy stiffened, his hands clenched into fists when he started feeling cornered, but Steve didn't stop. He didn't rush, didn't push against him at all, just stood close and kissed him slow and languid until Billy was breathing with the pace of them. He sucked softly up and down his neck and up to his ear. 

"This doesn't mean I give a shit.." he whispered into his ear, tugging the earring with his teeth in a way that made Billy let out a choked off moan. 

They were slower and kinder then they'd ever been that night. Billy even spent the night, curling around Steve and throwing an arm around his waist as they both drifted off.

Billy didn't come over for a couple nights after that.

Steve found him at school on the third day. He marched right up to him in the locker room (not far from where they had their first kiss, which he wasn't thinking about, at all). 

"Where the Hell have you been?" he hissed, making sure no one else was around. 

"What's got your panties in a twist, Harrington?" he asked, too sharp to be as nonchalant as he wanted it to be. He wasn't looking at Steve. 

"You, Asshole. You know what I mean." Billy continued to say nothing, staring into his locker like Steve wasn't there. He clenched his jaw. "What about the other night--?"

He reached out quick as a flash and grabbed his wrist hard enough to leave a mark "The other night never fucking happened. Capice?" He was looking at him then, and Steve's stomach flipped while looking at the nasty new bruise under his eye. 

"Yes." his voice was mostly air when he found it "Yes, it did. Who hurt you? Huh?" Billy cycled through several emotions at in an instant-- Steve had never known anyone as emotional as this asshole, although he'd never say it out loud for fear of getting smacked. Billy's expression landed on panicked confusion. It was as if no one had ever asked him. Something clicked in Steve's brain, and he wasn't sure about it, but he didn't give himself the time to think before he said "The next time he hits you, come over. Okay? We don't need to talk about it. But, come over." He didn't mention that his nightmares had come back while he was gone, that he'd barely slept for those long two days.

He left without a reply, but sure enough, Billy showed up that night and kissed him all the way up the stairs to Steve's bed. 

They didn't talk about it. But Billy hadn't come over injured in about a week, so Steve hoped it was getting better. 

It had been two weeks since Steve's sense of self was completely dismantled and turned upside down, and Steve didn't even care. 

How could he? How could he bring himself to care when this made things feel so much better? Billy was rough, it wasn't like this was about feelings. It wasn't. Sometimes, Billy wouldn't even kiss him. He'd just shove him to the nearest reasonably flat surface and bend Steve over. Sometimes, it hurt, but (and Steve would never fucking admit to this) it was so grounding. Being wrapped up around the other boy, letting him mark up his neck and down under his waistband with dark hickeys and bites-- he felt real, again. His bones weren't as heavy, and after Billy wrung him out like he always did, he could even manage 5 or 6 hours of sleep. He didn't dream with Billy Hargrove around, and Steve had maybe never been more grateful in his whole life. 

Besides, it was just sex. It wasn't like he liked Hargrove. He hated that asshole. It wasn't like he was queer or something. 

He was definitely not queer. He repeated it like a mantra in his head as he sat on his thoroughly demolished bed in the morning. He woke up before Billy again, and took a minute just to watch him sleep. He had the prettiest face Steve had seen since Nancy, especially while he slept and all the lines of his face smoothed out into calmness. He looked his age for once, and Steve had never taken the time to realize that Billy had always looked so much older.

His curly blonde hair made for some spectacularly terrible bedhead, and his breath rose and fell steadily. 

There was a bruise on his ribs. Steve ghosted his hand across it so lightly he barely made contact. 

"Hey Princess-- what th'Hell are you lookin' at?" the rough, sleepy voice made Steve almost jump out of his skin, and he nearly had a real panic attack until he saw the growing smirk on Billy's lips. He peaked one eye open and looked at him appraisingly before pulling him back down against his side. Steve must've hit the bruised spot at some point (hard as he tried not to), but Billy didn't let on about it at all. 

"Mornin'..." Steve trailed off, kissing his neck as his heart rate returned to normal. 

"No. Not morning til I say so, go back to sleep.." 

Steve would never fall back to sleep, but it was warm and comfortable where he was pressed up to Billy's body, so he didn't move at all. There was a long silence, and Steve thought he'd gone back to sleep until Billy, with eyes still closed, asked:

"Why d'you never sleep, Steve?" He was so taken aback that he'd actually called him by his name that he forgot to respond. "Hello?" he singsonged. 

"I, um, I sleep when you're here." It was a stupid thing to say, and his cheeks felt warm-- oh shit, was he blushing? Billy looked up just enough to shoot him an unimpressed glance "I have nightmares." he doesn't mention the other stuff. He doesn't have to, and he doesn't want to talk about this. 

"Must be pretty fuckin' crazy to get you as bad as you were--"

"I don't want to talk about this."

There was a long silence again. 

"Jesus, Princess, chill out." Billy finally said, rolling onto his side and away from Steve "It's not like I give a shit." 

Steve didn't either. Really, he didn't. 

Billy spent the whole of the weekend at Steve's, messing around and ordering pizza and messing around some more. Steve made breakfast in the mornings while Billy made coffee. It was so goddamn domestic that it made Steve's chest ache. They talked about nothing, they sniped at each other meaninglessly, they even did homework. They drank beer at night (and Billy even brought out a little weed. "Saved it from Cali" he grinned, and Steve raised an eyebrow, putting up a token fight before they lit up). It was Billy, so of course, there were fights. Fights about everything, fights about nothing. If it wasn't so nice to have someone consistently around, Steve would've been really fucking annoyed. But, the fights never lasted, and always ended with somebody's dick in somebody else, so Steve wasn't complaining.

They fucked on the kitchen floor, in the shower, over the couch in the living room, on Steve's dad's giant mahogany desk in the study (which they both liked way too much.), on the fucking washing machine, of all places, and in his parents' bed (not that they used it). There were few places in the whole of the house that they hadn't christened. Weird as it was, it was the first time in Steve's memory that the place felt like someone lived in it. 

When Billy left on Sunday night-- technically Monday morning-- it made it worse to go back to the silence and chill of the place. A certain level of melancholy settled itself back around him, and he took a deep breath to steady himself. But, at least he was pretty well rested for once. 

When Dustin got in the car that morning, he immediately knew something was up. Steve couldn't get anything past the kid, he didn't know why he thought this would be any different. 

"Sleeping better?" the kid greeted, and Steve's palms started to sweat on the steering wheel. Dustin smiled, but still pointedly put the cup of coffee he'd had Mrs. Henderson make for Steve in the cup holder. She liked her coffee a lot sweeter than he did, but it was the thought that counted. 

Steve gave a shrug and said "Things have been easier lately." which wasn't completely true, his brain was running a million miles a minute, but he was sleeping a few more hours.  

In the mornings, he only picked up Dustin. He drove all the kids home most days, except when Jonathan took Will. That only happened when he didn't have work after school, which was rare. Steve hardly minded driving out to drop the little guy at home. He stayed when Mrs. Byers asked him to, too. When both she and Jonathan were working at the same time. Will was a cool kid, and Steve definitely didn't deserve how sweet he was. They were all good kids. He usually saw them a lot, and he found himself bizarrely happy to see them again after all weekend without being called to take them to the arcade a single time. 

He'd missed them. 

Dustin was looking at him while he drove, again, and he couldn' t even be too annoyed. Until he poked him in the neck and Steve swerved sharply in surprise. 

"Ouch, Man-- What the Hell?"

"Who hurt you?" Dustin's smile had melted away, and he was frowning now. 

"Huh?"

"You have a big bruise on your neck, Steve." Dustin was using the same stupid tone that he'd used with Dart the Demodog and what bruise was he even talking about? "You can tell me, you know you can tell me." 

Steve ignored him and checked his neck at the next red light. 

Shit. 

There was a huge, dark purple hickey peeking out of the top of Steve's collar. He'd forgotten all about it, he didn't even think... 

"Steve." There was a smaller hand overlapping his on the center console, and Oh God, Dustin thought someone had hurt him. He didn't know what a hickey was. None of them probably did, they were thirteen year old nerds. 

Shit. 

The light turned green, and he wiggled his hand out from under the kid's and took a nervous sip of coffee. He focused on driving. What the Hell does he do in this situation? He had never even needed to explain away a hickey to his parents-- How do you explain away a hickey to your thirteen year old not-little-brother? 

"I.. fell." It was so dumb, it even sounded dumb to him. You can't fall and hit your neck. Wherever Billy fucking Hargrove was, he was probably laughing his ass off right now. 

"That's bullshit, Steve. Tell me, we can help you." He gave him this look so pitiful and sweet that it could make Hopper break down and tell the truth.

Luckily, that was when they pulled into the parking lot. Steve bolted from the car, shouting "Bye, Have a great day. Meet you here at 3:30-- I'll take you all to Mike's." over his shoulder, while Dustin called out to him from the other side of the parking lot. 

This kid would be the death of him. 

By a pre-arranged agreement, Billy and Steve didn't speak in school unless they had to. There were glances across the hallways and Billy was basically grinding on him in basketball practice, but they rarely spoke. 

Which was why Steve nearly cried out when Billy slid over next to him during math and said "What had your kid so worried about you this morning?"

"Jesus, don't sneak up on me." he hissed. He didn't say _I thought you were a demogorgen_  or _I was about to punch you on instinct_. Those were conversations he was actively avoiding. 

"Oh, sorry Pretty Boy-- did I scare you?" He deadpanned, pouting dramatically in a way that only served to make Steve want to bite that damn lip. Billy noticed, shooting him that stupid wolfish smile and shoving him hard on the shoulder. "Your kid. Why was he yelling at you?"

"Dustin's not my fucking kid!"

"Not answering my question, fine." He got up to leave for his regular seat, and Steve wanted to tell him to stay, but that would look wrong. "Twerp's totally your kid, Harrington." Billy called over his shoulder, winking at him in a lecherous way from his seat. 

There's a note on his desk where Billy had been, though, and he makes a more serious type of eye contact with the other boy when he picks it up. 

It reads: _Can't come by for a few days-- covering my tracks._

Billy's handwriting is neater than he thought it would be. Not that Steve thinks about that at all. 

He ignores the pang of disappointment that feels so jagged in his chest, and nods to himself. He feels Billy's eyes on him again, but he welcomes it now. 

Monday passes. So does Tuesday and Wednesday. Billy hasn't come by a single night and Steve itches to be near him every time their eyes meet in the hall or across class. When he rubs up against him in basketball, it's nearly enough to make him cry. Or come. He can't really tell anymore. And it doesn't help that he's slept a total of 5 hours in those three nights combined. 

Billy got into more fights for those few days, but no one thought it was weird. Steve wrote it off as the guy being fucking nuts-- because Billy was definitely fucking nuts. 

Tommy deserved it, though. Steve had looked better after his collision course with Hargrove at the Byers's house than Tommy H looked that week. Steve didn't know what Tommy had done, but he probably deserved it.  

He's slipping away again, he can feel it, and maybe if Billy would just come back, he'd be anchored again. He told himself that he didn't miss him, that missing Billy would make him a real queer, but goddamn it, he did. Billy was gritty and mean but somehow sweet, he was the realest person he'd ever known, all unbridled, rage-filled energy. He kept him grounded, and Steve was so sick of drifting-- no family, no home, no stability. He had clung to Nancy until he drove her away, he had needed an anchor. What if he was doing the same thing to Billy? 

He thought of it and was actually disoriented and sleep deprived enough that he whimpered out loud. Quietly, into his locker like it could keep a secret, but loud enough for someone to hear, obviously, because there was a hand on his back in less than a second. 

"Why can't you just fucking sleep, Sweetheart?"

Sweetheart. That one was new, and it made Steve feel warm and cared for. 

He turned and Billy was there, trying too hard to look relaxed while his body language screamed something more intense. Nobody else was in the hallway, but Steve was still taken by the elbow and tugged out the nearest door before Billy kissed him. The air was a little warmer today than it had been, but it was still crisp with the smell of the last of the melting snow. Steve took a deep breath that cleared his lungs and his mind, too tired to do anything other than let Billy maneuver him into sitting beside him on the concrete step.

"Wanna puff?" 

He had lit a cigarette, letting it hang out of his mouth in a way that was unfairly alluring, and Steve stared at him. He was too exhausted to be ashamed. He usually hated cigarettes, they burned his throat and made him cough. But, right then, he'd go ten rounds with a demogorgen to trade places with that cigarette, hanging out of Billy fucking Hargrove's mouth so delicately. Maybe he was fucking queer. He didn't really care. Not while looking at Billy. 

The other boy quirked an eyebrow, still caught up in the act of not caring, and unimpressed with the quality of the conversation. He wrapped his hand-- so fucking hot against Steve's cold skin-- around the back of his neck and pulled him in for a long kiss. It tasted like cigarettes, but also like Billy. Which meant it was fine with Steve.

"Come over tonight?" He asked, definitely not begging (he wasn't tired enough to give Hargrove that kind of ammo). Billy smiled, soft and happy like Steve liked him. He nodded. 

"You got it, King Steve." 

When the high school let out for the day, Billy and Steve skipped basketball. Steve was just too tired, and Billy just shrugged, said it had been boring lately. "This doesn't mean I give a shit about you, Harrington." he said, but the kiss that came with it said differently. They spent the long hour that the kids were in AV club making out and not cuddling in the backseat of the camaro.   
They made sure that they were cooled down and at their respective cars at 4 pm, sharp. They couldn't be any less vigilant with such a perceptive bunch of ducklings. Steve wasn't taking any chances. 

Dustin still hadn't dropped the "bruise" thing, and Steve didn't have the energy to explain. The tiredness actually helped him for once, giving him an excuse to lose his cool, but he felt bad snapping at him. 

"Dustin, drop it!" 

It certainly made the car go quiet. Steve instantly felt bad, and the kid looked so taken aback he might cry. And the day he makes Dustin Henderson cry is the day he hurls himself into oncoming traffic, so he apologizes. 

"God, Buddy, I'm sorry. I'm just not sleeping much lately, I'm.... wound a little tight."

"Okay, Steve." there was that little hand over his on the center console again, and maybe Steve was going to be the one crying "It's okay." 

Steve hoped that was the last of it. Usually, he wouldn't mind explaining the hickey. But that would lead to questions. Questions like who gave it to him, and Steve was just coming to grips with whatever this was and whatever he was. The only thing worse than these kids trying to discover his assailant was these kids trying to discover his "girlfriend" (Wait, was Billy his boyfriend? He shook away that thought). 

The idea made him too queasy to think properly, and the rest of the drive passed in relative silence. Steve just wanted to get home for once in his life, and see the person he'd be seeing there. 

The house was cleaned to a hypoallergenic degree by day two of Steve being without Billy, but he cleaned it again anyway when he got back. By the time the other boy hopped the fence and Steve let him in the sliding door, the place sparkled. Billy raised an eyebrow and put out his cigarette on the back patio before entering. 

"C'mon, Princess-- just for me? I'm an easy man to please, I don't need all this." 

"Oh please-- this doesn't mean I give a shit about you." Steve teased back, Billy huffed a laugh, shaking his head and pulling Steve close. 

Billy was cold from walking from his car in the night air, not used to Indiana's weather still. Steve, though, was warm from being inside, from the exertion of cleaning, and the proximity to the asshole in his arms. Billy kissed him like he was trying to steal every bit of that heat from Steve, making him shiver and pull away from his cold hands as slipped up under his shirt. Steve gasped against his mouth as Billy chased that heat with his lips and wandering hands. His cock was pressed flush to Steve's thigh, making him mumble little nothings and grind against his hips. 

It never took them long. They were not patient, especially after three whole days apart. 

_The tunnels are dark and cold and damp, like they always are. But this time, the oozing, living ground is dotted with the remains of what was once train tracks._

_"Hey Steve." Dustin's voice said, and he turned to see that the two of them were walking side by side._

_"Hey Buddy. What are we doing here?"_

_Dustin didn't respond, just continued to drop the chunks of beef from the bucket he was holding. When did that get there? It was just like it had been, all those months ago, when Dustin had asked about electricity and love, and Steve had no idea that he was going to end up putting his life on the line for this kid. Not yet._

_"Dustin?"_

_"Do you ever think that maybe this is reality, and the world where you won is the dream?"_

_The coldness of the Upside Down seemed to settle deep inside Steve when he heard that. Of course, he worried about that. It was the undercurrent of his life the past four months, when Demodogs seem to be hiding behind every corner and the shadows had eyes. Steve felt so crazy, like he was really losing his mind, all the goddamn time. How did Dustin know that? Was he thinking it too?_

_"What if it's not real, and you're still just running from it."_

_"Running from what?" Running from what? What was he running from? Panic burst in his chest, he was so tired of running, what could it possibly be this time?_

_There was a demogorgen on the train tracks. Standing and somehow watching them with no face. Steve was shaking now, but reached out to Dustin. Dustin, who hadn't stopped walking along as if nothing was wrong. As if they weren't in the Upside Down facing the monster all over again. He gripped the kid's shoulder tight._

_He was the most important thing. They all were. Those kids needed protection, and maybe it was the only thing Steve was good at. He could die for them. He would die for Dustin Henderson._

_He turned to face Steve then, still as if the demogorgen wasn't looming just ahead in the fog, and he jumped back at the sight._

_Dustin's right eye was gone. In it's place was some sort of bug-- a slug with a suction cup mouth, burrowing into his kid, Steve's kid, and he felt like he was going to throw up._

_Dustin wasn't there anymore. Suddenly, everything was spinning, and the demogorgen was walking slowly forward like time was no object._

_"Dart!" the shell of Dustin called out to the demogorgen, going to meet it, and Steve cried out. He still went to pull his kid back, like he was still home in his world, where Dustin was safe and they had won._

_He could die, he would die for these kids._

_The demogorgen wasn't Dart, and Steve screamed when it tore into the little boy in front of it--_

"NO!"

"STEVE!" 

There were hands on him. The sheets were tangled around his bare legs and Steve couldn't get a fucking breath in, he couldn't move, where was he? He could feel himself screaming and crying, shaking and going hoarse. But, it felt like it wasn't him. He was far away, lost in the phantom pain of losing Dustin, even if it wasn't real. What if it was real? 

Time didn't seem to pass as he sat, curled into a shaking little ball on the bed. He could never say how long it took for him to come back to the world. The real world. But when he finally surfaced, there were arms around them. Someone was murmuring little nonsensical phrases into his ear and carding fingers through his thick, sweaty mop of hair. 

"Hey... Hey there. You with me, Sweetheart?" there was a rough, familiar voice next to his head, and he turned, almost afraid of what he'd see. 

But it was just Billy. Blonde bedhead and full pink lips, still bitten raw from earlier. His eyes were still powerfully blue, even in the dark. Like he was lit up from the inside. 

"B-Billy?" 

"Yeah, Yeah I'm here, Steve. Sweetheart, how in the fuckin' Hell do you do this by yourself? What did you even see? Jesus Christ..." he babbled on, and Steve knew, somewhere in the back of his mind (the only part really functioning beyond crying and replaying that fucking dream in his head) that Billy was scared. He had scared him, and Steve should be sorry. Billy fucking Hargrove was even being nice to him. Steve was so sorry. 

"Don't be sorry-- you can't control this shit. Take a deep breath, Steve, try for me." He did, and it almost worked, his heart coming back slowly to its resting rate. "Good... good, Sweetheart." 

He never said anything about not giving a shit about him, not that Steve could hear. After that, though, they spent most of the morning in silence. Billy made coffee and it was 5 am, and they watched the sunrise with red rimmed eyes. Steve was curled under Billy's arm against his chest. He could hear his heartbeat, slow and steady, as he had a cigarette.

The window was open and the air was so crisp and clean. Not musty or damp, and Steve would take cigarette smoke over that any day. 

 


	3. The New Campaign

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to this so far has been BEYOND awesome and I'm so grateful! Thank you! 
> 
> This is a LOOONGGG one. I can't believe I wrote all this in one day. It was fun to write something from the perspective of the kids for a little while. Their part is a little more lighthearted at the beginning, but it's dialogue heavy. It still flows pretty well, though. 
> 
> Let me know what you think, y'all!

"... and the Assassin Bugs are defeated with a bloodcurdling shriek!" Mike made a really terrible sound that made the boys cheer and Max laugh her ass off while the latest campaign drew to a close.

The basement was a disaster. Snack crumbs and paper plates were strewn around the carpet, the table had nearly been flipped three times, and an empty, greasy pizza box had been flung off into a corner at some point in the last six and a half hours.

There were cries of "Man, that was awesome!" (Lucas) and "I can't believe you guys, oh my god!" (Max) and "Assassin Bugs are the worst, the only thing you can do is fireball them!" (Will). But, gradually, they all calmed down, smiles on their faces and not scared of the future, like they had so constantly been for the last two horrible winters. Things fell into a nice type of quiet for a second as everyone caught their breath.

"Guys-- I'm worried about Steve." Dustin finally stated plainly, swigging from a coke like he was drinking a beer.

"You're always worried about Steve." Mike groused back at him.

"Yeah, and he totally bit your head off today." Lucas cut in. Max rolled her eyes. "The guy's got a bruise, it's not like they're rare or something."

"Come on! Really, I think something's wrong. If it was nothing, he would've said so."

There was silence around the flimsy card table for a long moment. The game board and all their pieces were still spread out in the middle, but no one moved to change the subject or start a new campaign.

"What do you think is wrong with him, again?" Will spoke up, looking contemplative as usual. After the last incident in the winter, Will had gotten impossibly quieter and he looked tired, but he smiled when Dustin looked over at him.

"He's got a big bruise on his neck, and he tried to hide it when I said something, and he's not sleeping-- he told me himself--" he cut himself off when Mike let out a huff "Shut up, Mike! I know I can't make him sleep, but if someone's hurting him, we can help!"

"I'm in." Max spoke up, nodding along with Dustin and Will "Steve's been so good to us, we need to help him. Return the favor."

And, if she was in, Lucas was in. Lucas and Max had become inseparable in the months since the Gate, and apparently, they even hung out just the two of them. Without the rest of the Party. Which Mike didn't like, but Mike was just jealous that Lucas had Max and Mike couldn't see Eleven all the time.

Mike huffed again and thought about arguing his point, but he was outvoted. Dustin made sure to tell him so.

"Four against one, Mike. Party rules." he grinned brightly, and stood like he was victorious "We start a new campaign to protect Steve Harrington!"

"Fine, what's your plan?"

There was silence as everyone looked at Dustin for some brilliant idea and he just stood there, smile shrinking away.

"You don't have a plan?" Max crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I got nothin'." he sat back down with a thud "Obviously, Steve's not gonna talk to us. So, that's out..."

"What about Nancy? We could start with her." Will piped in, brow furrowed. "She and Steve are still friends, and she'd see who he's been talking to at school."

"Will Byers, you're a genius!" Dustin declared, bounding toward the stairs and getting halfway to the door when Mike yelled after him.

"Dustin, where're you going?! She's out with Jonathan!"

But, just as he said it, they heard the distinctive sound of the front door opening, and two familiar voices talking to Mrs. Wheeler in the kitchen. Jonathan was here to pick up Will, which meant Nancy was getting dropped off. And had no idea that she was about to be so thoroughly interrogated.

All of them ran up the stairs in a big clump, tripping over each other's feet in their hurry to be the first one to the Nancy in the kitchen.

"Hey Bud-- ready to go? Usually I need to drag you out of that basement." Jonathan was the first one to say, but all three of them were staring at them. The banging on the stairs must've been loud enough for them to hear.

"Is something wrong, Michael?" said Karen, but was ignored as all of them collectively seemed to zero in on Nancy. Who was looking at them like they were crazy.

"Nancy, we need to talk to you." Dustin started, and he sounded out of breath. Nancy and Jonathan both shot glances at each other. They looked wary and nervous at the idea of whatever was so important that they discuss it right now, all of them with such pleading little faces.

"Um. Okay?"

"Jonathan can help, too." Dustin threw in as an afterthought, and they all raced back down the stairs, making sure the two teenagers were following them. They ignored Mrs. Wheeler yelling after them to be careful on the stairs, and shut the door behind them.

"What is your problem, Asshole?" Nancy finally hissed, once she and Jonathan were instructed to sit at the card table. All of the lights were turned out except one bare bulb lamp in the center of the abandoned game board.

"It was all Dustin this time, I swear!"

"Is this about the Upside Down?" Jonathan asked, looking worriedly at his little brother, who shook his head.

"No-- Guys, I don't think this interrogation is working. We're only scaring them." Will turned to the group. But Lucas whined, saying "C'mon, Man-- I saw this in a movie! It's cool!"

"This is about Steve Harrington!" Dustin soldiered on, glaring at the two teens like they had something to hide or something. Max rolled her eyes.

"Wait what?" Jonathan and Nancy both said together.

"Steve. This is about Steve Harrington. Come on, guys, I just said that."

"Dustin thinks somebody hurt Steve." Will clarified calmly "And we're going to find out who!"

The two of them seemed to absorb that, squinting at their brothers and friends in the light of the stupid lamp. Jonathan sighed and finally agreed to answer whatever they wanted to know, as long they turned the lights back on.

Dustin decided these were agreeable terms, and the lights went back to normal. Lucas groaned.

"Okay-- what's up, guys?" Nancy sighed, now slightly more relaxed on the sofa.

"Something's wrong with Steve! God, I need to spell things out for everybody around here..." Dustin said.

"But, what do you think is wrong? Like, what's making you concerned?" Jonathan, ever the patient one, managed to say without annoyance.

They explained everything-- mostly Dustin. This was his crusade. But the others chimed in when talking about how tired Steve was and how he yelled at Dustin in the car that day. Nancy just raised an eyebrow, chewing her lip as she thought. Jonathan wasn't sure what to say. They tried asking if they'd tried actually talking to Steve about this, but Dustin Henderson was in interrogation mode and having none of it.

"Of course we asked! That's why he yelled at me!"

"Whoa, Man-- Look, I've seen it too. We all have." Jonathan measured his words, holding his hands up a little in some type of surrender "Nance and I talk to him at school, he obviously hasn't been doing great, but he doesn't really talk to us much. Not about that type of stuff, anyway."

"Yeah... Jonathan's right." her eyes still shone with some sort of guilt, and definitely a lot of worry. Nancy fiddled with a loose string on her sweater. "He hasn't been talking a lot, something's up. It was better for a little while there. And I haven't seen any bruises, guys. " she turned her head to look at Jonathan beside her, then "Did you hear anything about him and Billy Hargrove? Ally said Billy was talking to Steve in math a few days ago, and they both skipped basketball the other day? Apparently neither of them were there."

"That doesn't make any sense-- Steve was there to pick us up from AV club, just like he always is..." Mike commented, finally getting into the spirit to help.

"Steve's had bruises, too! It's gotta be Billy!"

"That asshole!"

Everyone turned to look at Max, then.

"Whoa, whoa-- Really?" She looked guarded, almost like she was disappointed in something, but only pursed her lips against the onslaught of stares from her friends. "Billy... He's a total dick, but he's been better lately. Neil was out of town for a while, and he's leaving again next week, and Billy's been nice!" that just made the staring worse, more cynical. Billy fucking Hargrove? Nice?

Mike said as much.

"Like, almost nice. He's still him, but whatever..."

"Max-- we are entrusting you with an undercover mission." Dustin said, heightening the tension in the room for dramatic effect. "To actually talk to your scary brother an--"

"Oh my god, no way!" she interrupted "He's actually been okay since that night! He's not as bad as you think, and--"

"You're the one who wanted to help!" Mike crossed his arms, scowling.

"You're the one who didn't give a shit 'til a minute ago!" she fired back. Lucas was the one to step in, taking her hand and squeezing.

"C'mon Max... You're being entrusted with a mission from the Party." he said "You've gotta do it. For Steve."

She sighed, running a hand through her bright red hair before nodding. "Fine, Stalker. I'll ask him on our way to school tomorrow."

"Report at 0900 hours." Dustin said completely seriously. She scoffed, and so did Nancy.

Max used to hate riding to school every day. The car was tense and Billy's angry music blared through the speakers until it made the windows vibrate.

After the night with the Gate and the nail bat and those crazy Demodog things that definitely weren't bears, Billy had changed. Still tense, still angry, but no more grabbing her arm, no more screaming-- even the music was quieter. Just a little bit. There were still good days and bad days. Sometimes, he wouldn't talk to her at all, even when she tried to make conversation. Those were usually the days that he looked the most tired, and had the worst bruises.

Max wasn't stupid. It wasn't like she couldn't hear them fighting after she'd gone to bed, she knew Neil was mean to Billy in a way he never had been to her. The bad days were the ones when Billy had new bruises that he wrote off as a scrap at school and "you should see the other guy".

But, lately, there had been a long streak of good days. Whistling along to songs, a little smile every once and a while-- he even let her pick the radio station one day. He asked her how her day was while driving home the day before, and she'd nearly given herself whiplash when she turned to see if Invasion of he Body Snatchers had become reality.

It was almost like having a real brother.

This morning was odd. Neil had already left-- his flight was at some ungodly hour-- but, when Max woke up, Billy wasn't home. It was just her and her mom at breakfast and they didn't hear the rumble of the camaro until 7:22 am. They were nearly late.

Billy had somehow managed to change his clothes and shower by magic, because he looked just like he always did, but he definitely hadn't come home last night (she wasn't stupid). She jumped in the car and was about to say something about where he'd been, but decided against it when she saw the look on his face.

This wasn't a good day. But it wasn't a typical bad day either. Billy looked exhausted, his eyes were a little bloodshot, and his jaw was clenched tightly. That had to be giving him a headache, but Max wasn't supposed to care. Max didn't care.

It was silent for a long time. Max's heart hammered. She had to report for the Party when she got to school. She had to say something, get some kind of information from her asshole stepbrother, but suddenly there were no words. What was she supposed to say?

"So, are you and Steve friends now?"

That probably wasn't the best course of action.

"What?" Billy gritted the word out through his teeth, hands tightening on the wheel as the trees whipped by.

"I just--"

"We talk when we see each other." It was really amazing how he could manage to speak like that, without opening his mouth. If she was with anybody else, and less terrified, Max would make a stupid joke about it.

"But, like.... are you friends--?"

"Jesus Christ, Bitch! What's it to you? What's this third fucking degree?" His big hand shot out and gripped her wrist, tight enough to maybe bruise. Tight enough to make her keenly aware that they had gained no ground at all over the past few months.

"Nothing... Just wondering." her voice was so small, it didn't even feel like hers.

"Well, don't." Billy pulled out a cigarette and lit it as they tore into the parking lot "Shut the fuck up, 'kay?"

He slammed the door behind him, and Max took a second to catch her breath and not cry before making her way over to where Lucas was waiting for her by the bike racks.

When she saw him, the day started getting a little better.

Steve's day was also not good. He had expected a lot of things: Nancy's kind pity, Jonathan's awkward smile, Billy pointedly ignoring him (and also staring at him like a weirdo), Dustin bringing him his too-sweet coffee, and failing his english test. He knew he could count on all of that.

He was not expecting Billy fucking Hargrove-- the only person to see the aftermath of his nightmares, the guy who'd almost exclusively referred to him as "Sweetheart" all morning-- to shoulder check him so hard that he barely stopped himself from cracking his face on his stupid locker door.

He whirled around to face the bastard down, but Billy hadn't even stopped walking. Part of him (most of him) wanted to march down the hallway and shove Billy right back. It wasn't because he was hurt and confused, even if the two feelings itched at him under his skin, tugging on his heart in an annoying way. He didn't give a shit about Billy Hargrove.

But, Steve pointedly didn't do anything with Billy all day. He didn't look at him, he didn't talk to him, he didn't even go to basketball practice. It was just Billy-- Billy was an asshole. He'd only ever been an asshole, and Steve was stupid for thinking anything different.

He tried to close his eyes and rest in the car while he was supposed to be in basketball. He still hoped that Billy would come and knock on his window, and he hated himself for it. He kind of wanted to get beat up-- Please, Asshole. Come beat the reality back into me so I'll stop trusting you to be a decent fucking human being.

Maybe he was being melodramatic. It was just a shoulder check.

God, Steve Harrington was pathetic.

And then, somebody knocked on his window, and his heart leapt, and he jumped in his seat, and he hoped he didn't look too eager. It was just Dustin, with the rest of the ducklings in tow behind him. Dustin waved at him, but Steve barely spared him a glance as he unlocked the doors for the brats to pile in. He couldn't look anybody in the eye today, least of all, Dustin Henderson. The image of the gray, slowly rotting body he'd talked to in his dreams last night was still all he could see, and Dustin could never fucking know about it. He just couldn't.

"Hey Steve." He said a little too gently.

"Hey, you're out early." He replied, trying his hardest to just sound normal for a minute.

"Actually, we're late...?" Mike interjected, pointing over at where Billy's camaro had been. "Max left just few minutes ago."

Oh.

"Oh."

"Steve, what's going on?" Will said, and Dustin put his hand over his when he tried to start the engine.

Dustin, he could maybe get mad at on a day like today, but Will Byers was possibly the meekest little thing on the planet and Steve just didn't have the energy to snap at him anyway. "Just a rough night, Bud. Nothing too bad."

"We meant with you and Billy Hargrove."

The car was cold, but suddenly all of Steve's blood seemed to go still and he had never been more freezing. He tried to speak, and his body just seemed to be unable to carry the words. There was no air in his lungs.

"W-What? We, um, there's..." He finally found the courage to look directly at all those tiny faces. "Nothing. Nothing, why?"

"Your bruise? Did he hurt you again? Cus, Max can threaten him with the bat again and--"

What? "What? Oh my god." The dueling effects of relief and irritation mixed with his sleep deprivation into a dizzying cocktail. He took a deep breath and exhaled long and hard. They were still on this stupid "bruise" thing and Steve wanted to strangle every single one of them for scaring him like that, but they couldn't know that they'd scared him. "Seriously? Seriously, you little shits? It's a fucking hickey, it is definitely NOT from Billy fucking Hargrove, and don't ask me what that is. Ask your mom, cus that is not my job."

They pulled out of the parking lot with a squeal of tires.

"So." He finally broke the tense silence at a red light "You guys excited about Hopper's tomorrow?"

Slowly, they (hopefully) forgot what he'd said, and Steve plied them with questions about what they were going to do with Jane and how much fun they were gonna have. Hopefully, this wouldn't be an issue anymore, and Steve could go back to his own miserable little existence where he pretended not to think about You Know fucking Who.

He knew it was never going to actually happen, but a man could hope.

That night, he wasn't expecting Billy at all. He didn't know why he was waiting by the sliding back door, but he blamed it on lack of sleep. No way was Billy going to come. But Steve didn't even have the energy to clean. He just sat there on his kitchen floor and considered the gigantic vat of nothingness that was his life. The yo-yo of emotional bullshit that was Billy fucking Hargrove. The fact that he didn't give a shit at all about the bastard.

He was also blaming his lack of sleep for the way that when he blinked he saw ashes in the air and thick cloud cover and nasty slugs. He was blaming the lack of sleep for the eyes that seemed to be following him everywhere. It wasn't Billy, or even Nancy or Dustin. It happened when he was at home, too, and there was nobody there, that's for damn sure.

Right?

He nearly had a goddamn heart attack then, when there was a less-than-gentle knock at the glass of the door. He whirled around, standing and stumbling a little (he was sure Billy noticed it but didn't acknowledge).

He was looking at him with that look again. Like right before the first time he kissed him, when he thought he was going to get pummeled like on the Byers's living room floor.

He could kiss him or kill him with that look in his eyes.

Steve opened the door despite his better judgement.

Billy immediately shoved him, and Steve was so suddenly angry that it filled his whole body, pumping through him like cocaine and he shoved the other boy right back.

"What the fuck was that today?" he growled.

"What the FUCK did you say to Max?!" Billy matched him, grinding out the the words through his teeth and, in a split second, Steve was crowded against the kitchen island with limbs that already were getting heavier with tiredness. Billy's face was dark and stormy and enraged. Like at the Byers's.

"Go ahead, fucking punch me, GO AHEAD, ASSHOLE-- Wait, WHAT?"

His brain was slow on the uptake, only catching up when Billy finally cracked and threw Steve to the floor. Leaning over him with a manic sparkle in his eyes, he fisted his hands in Steve's collar, straddling his waist.

"You stupid little-- Max KNOWS something!" he spat out, their noses nearly touching. Billy was trembling, vibrating like a firework about to go off.

"Well, she didn't hear shit from me, Hargrove."

Watching someone like Billy Hargrove-- as wrathful and indignant and conflicted as Billy Hargrove-- come down from anger without actual acts of physical violence was a damn sight to behold. It reminded Steve of when he was a kid in Mr. Clarke's class, and the teacher (then, barely out of grad school) had blown up a balloon to show how air fills any and all available space. He had taken the balloon that he had pinched closed with his thumb and forefinger and let it go. It had screamed around the room in a messy panic, deflating as it whizzed around the class's little heads. Until it finally dropped, limp, right by the front of the room.

Billy Hargrove was like that.

He paced, grunting and breathing deeply like he was concentrating on something, yelling at odd intervals and clenching his hands into fists and releasing them, stretching the fingers until they went white. He'd look at Steve, and then turn away in a huff, pulling at his hair. Steve didn't go near him. At first, he was working off his own anger hammering away in his chest. But that didn't last long, and soon he was just too tired to do anything other than watch. Billy looked tired, too, as he came back down.

Eventually, when Steve finally found the strength to move his legs, he stopped the other boy in his frenzied pacing and just held his shoulders. Billy could easily get out of it. Steve wouldn't have put up a fight if he'd tried to punch him. Instead, he deflated like Mr. Clarke's balloon, leaning forward into Steve and tugging him close with his shaking arms around his waist.

He didn't know how long they stood there in his living room, holding each other and nothing else. Time was flexible and weird when you spent so much time awake, but Steve didn't care when he was doing something as important as holding Billy.

"Did I hurt you?" the blonde broke the silence, and Steve was kind of disappointed that the silence didn't stretch longer.

"Hm?"

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" his voice was hoarse from screaming and yelling, and Steve thought about how the tables had turned from that morning. He was too tired to care what Billy thought of it when he brushed his lips against his temple. He didn't seem to even notice at all. He lifted his head to look him in the eye, and his own eyes were bloodshot. It made them look impossibly more blue. "Answer me, Steve."

"I-- No. No, no lasting damage." he whispered it even though they were alone.

Billy relaxed, going slack and then coming back to himself almost immediately. He stroked a hand down Steve's cheek and exhaled on a sigh before he kissed him.

"Can we go to bed now?" Steve blurted out when Billy pulled back, and he didn't even mean to say it out loud. He didn't even know he'd really been thinking it. The other boy looked at him with such shock that Steve couldn't help it.

He laughed.

And Billy laughed back. Like, a real belly-laugh that you couldn't fake or make sinister. It was so sweet and pretty and Billy was so beautiful when the corners of his eyes crinkled and he really laughed.

"Yeah, yeah. Sure, your Highness-- lead the way."

They'd talk about Max later. They'd talk about the boys later, and how Billy really needed to start taking the lack of turtlenecks in Steve's wardrobe into account when he sucked and bit up his neck. They'd talk about all this shit later.

Steve couldn't think about anything but taking off his goddamn pants and kissing this asshole until he fell asleep.

He turned out the last of the downstairs lights as they went up to his room, and didn't catch the way they flickered before he hit the switch.

"Hey" Billy said between long, wet, sucking kisses down his neck (so much for talking about that later) "Y'know this" suck, bite, lick-- Steve whimpered. "this doesn't mean I--"

"I know, I know. I hate you, too, Asshole." he punctuated it with a kiss of his own, and Billy chuckled as they settled in under the sheets.

He fell asleep with that laughter in his ears, feeling warm, and didn't even dream.

It was when he woke up that the nightmare started.


	4. Hunted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you by: blood. 
> 
>  
> 
> The comments have been so great you guys! Keep 'em coming! Thank you so much for the support!

Steve hated scary shit. Steve had hated scary shit for a long damn time before the demogorgen and all that came with it. From when he was a little kid, he covered his eyes during horror movies, nearly peed his pants in a haunted house one Halloween (when he was way too old for that), and avoided books by Sam Harris and everything written by Stephen fucking King. He was a jumpy little thing as a kid, and he just got better at hiding it as he grew up. 

Being friends with a budding sociopath like Tommy H necessitated that he learn how to hide all that fear. He'd never forget when the little bastard had come over and insisted on him reading The Red Dragon in their freshman year. He barely even started it before closing the damn thing and hiding it under his bed for a month, awkwardly trying to keep up with the other kid as he described the bloody, gruesome details. Steve had nightmares for months just listening to Tommy talk. 

His mom said he had an overactive imagination. 

His dad called him a faggot and a pussy.

What surprised Steve, when the horror movie became real and the demogorgen came crashing through the Byers's ceiling, was that when you are in the horror movie, it doesn't feel like you are. It's all a rush of adrenaline and fight or flight instincts and swing first, ask questions later. It's better than any basketball game, it's better than any roller coaster. When Steve twirled that bat and lodged it in that slimy, otherworldly trip of a creature, he had forgotten he was even in danger. 

Even the second time around, he got bolder in the fight. Steve did that primarily for the kids-- none of those little shits were going to die on his watch. But, he was also under some weird, misguided, adrenaline fueled impression that he couldn't get hurt. He could hear his dad in his head that night, when he pushed Dustin, Max and Lucas behind him on that stupid bus, and when he took the stupid lead in the tunnels, saying something scathingly patronizing about teenagers and invincibility complexes. 

When he was shaken awake at some ungodly hour from the first restful sleep he'd had in weeks, it all came crashing down. 

It came together in slow increments, and then slammed into him like a goddamn train: the agonizing heat and pain throughout his whole body, the stench of the Upside Down's toxic atmosphere and the acrid tang of coppery blood. His heart was pounding and he felt like someone was stomping on his skull, making his brain throb. His limbs refused to work, but Steve knew he needed to move. 

"Steve, STEVE HARRINGTON, oh god, oh SHIT, WAKE UP!" 

Someone was shaking him. 

The pain came in waves that made him burn and tremble. He barely managed to lift his arms to push the hands and voice away. It wasn't until the hands moved and a thumb was pulling up his eyelids that he realized he was still in his room, still in his bed. He was still home, how did that happen?

Billy Hargrove was hovering above his face, blue eyes wide and wild. He was talking, he was still talking and shaking him and Steve couldn't really hear too well over the ringing in his ears. 

"Holy SHIT, Harrington, you're alive, Jesus Christ--"

What the Hell was going on?

Then he noticed the odd shadows in the darkness-- in Billy's hair, on his cheek, nearly covering his bare torso and arms. But, they weren't shadows, they were stains. It was blood. Billy fucking Hargrove was trembling in his bed, drenched in blood, and it was under them, too. Dark stains bloomed across the sheets, Steve realized belatedly, and all the blood had come from him. It still was coming from him-- that blinding, burning agony coursing through every inch of him was from long scores in his bare chest and abdomen, pumping out thready streams of dark blood. 

This felt like a horror movie now. It felt like it in the distant kind of way where he's sure that this is a dream. 

"Steve, Steve-- look at me. C'mon, Sweetheart, look at me" his head lolled up from his own chest to stare at the other boy, and nothing in the world could get him to look away. Billy was crying, trying to breathe, but he didn't seem to have any gashes on his own body. Steve did a quick check for injuries, and it was easier to think when he looked at Billy. Easier to breathe as deep as he could and think a little clearer. "Hey, you're... It doesn't look like it's." He cut himself off, clearing his throat like he was trying not to be sick "It's not as bad as it looks-- they aren't too deep. Just a.. just a lot of blood, Sweetheart. Keep looking at me."

"Whu--"

Billy shushed him "C-Can you walk? Let's, um, let's get you to the bathroom.." 

Surprisingly, Steve could walk. Kind of. It was more like Billy half carrying him down the short hallway, half dragging him, but Steve couldn't really be bothered. What the fuck was going on? 

Whatever the danger was must have passed, because Billy didn't look away from him for a single second as he knelt in front of where Steve was sat on the toilet. The porcelain was cold and as his temperature went down, his cognitive ability went up. 

"What happened?"

Billy just shook his head, giving no real, verbal answer as he dug in the cabinets until he found a roll of gauze and a bottle of what looked like peroxide to Steve's hazy eyes. 

"Billy-- What. The fuck. Happened--?"

"I don't FUCKING know, Harrington, I don't.." his voice cracked, and he ran a hand down his face, accidentally smearing himself further with Steve's blood. He didn't notice. Instead, he knelt back down in front of him with a cotton pad and the peroxide. 

He pressed a doused pad to his wounds so gently, but it still fucking sizzled against him. It burned and made Steve tremble, crying out in surprise and pain. "Shut up, Princess-- you're gonna be okay." the other boy ground out "Lucky you don't need a hospital..."

Steve wanted to ask him how he knew that, but too many things were running through his foggy mind to find the right words. Billy methodically patched Steve up in silence after that, stealing glances up at him with an indiscernible gaze when he whimpered or gasped. 

Time went all runny and fluid as the other boy wrapped him in gauze and taped him up. Steve felt fully awake and wired as Hell by the time they were through, watching how Billy stuck his tongue out just the littlest bit while he was concentrating on his task. If he had the space in his brain to give it more than a thought, Steve would've acknowledged that it was completely adorable.

Then, he saw that it wasn't all Steve's blood on Billy. 

"Hey, you got some..." he trailed off, unable to focus further than pain and uncertainty, but something had to be said, because Billy had three short gashes in his shoulder. They weren't deep, but they were present enough that they couldn't be ignored. Steve lifted a heavy hand to place it by the wound, but the other boy slapped it away. 

"Seriously? You were damn near bleeding out about 10 minutes ago, and you're poking at me?" Billy glared at him. "I'll get them taken care of when I'm done with you, Sweetheart." he grumbled. 

Apparently, the worst of it was on his back, which explained the unbearable tugging sensation across the skin when he tried to slouch. His chest and sides were no picnic, though, and Steve felt like he was wearing a corset-- couldn't breathe too deep, couldn't relax too far, couldn't ignore the constant ache of his torso. 

Steve couldn't sit still, and Billy growled out exasperated little puffs of cigarette smoke as he followed Steve around the house. He stripped his bed and took the stiff sheets down the stairs, turning on every light as he went and trying not to think about the stench of the filthy fabric in his arms. 

Once he had started the load of laundry, Billy finally sat him down at the kitchen table and glared daggers at him until he stayed put. 

Then, he sat down across from him and took a long drag on his cigarette, tapping the ashes into the empty vase in the center of the table and exhaling hard enough that Steve was vaguely surprised smoke didn't come out his ears.

"You owe me a serious explanation, Harrington."

"So do you." he croaked. 

Billy scoffed and pulled out a new cigarette and lit it. Steve didn't dare remind him that he wasn't supposed to smoke in the house. He'd earned it this time. "You first."

"No, you first." 

"Harrington." his harsh tone brooked no argument "I just saw some pretty fucked up shit. I'm in this now, whatever the fuck it is, and I need you to level with me. Cus, I know that whatever that was was the same thing that wakes you up at night-- that thing that you are so fuckin' desperate to not talk about." smoke haloed his blonde curls and although no one else would probably be able to see it like Steve could, he knew Billy was scared out of his mind. "Now, I'm gonna put on a whole fuckin' pot o' joe, and we're gonna swap stories-- starting with you."

Steve just nodded. 

They got through half the coffee and the sunrise was just starting to turn the sky red and orange by the time Steve had finished telling Billy what he could about the past two years: Hawkins Lab, Nancy Wheeler, Will Byers, Demogorgens, what he had actually walked in on when Max was at the Byers's house with Steve and the kids. 

He didn't say shit about Jane. That wasn't something any of them were allowed to talk about. 

Billy just stared at him for a long time when he was done, and Steve held his gaze from over the rim of his coffee mug as he watched the other boy absorb the information. 

"Are you fucking high?" 

Steve had expected that. 

"Nope." he popped the p, giving Billy a hard stare "Were you high when you saw whatever the Hell just tried to shred me to fucking ribbons?" 

"Fuck you, Harrington."

"I was 'Sweetheart' about an hour ago." 

"You seriously expect me to-- No. No fuckin' way, Harrington." 

He was trying his best to talk a big talk, but Billy looked small. He looked weighed down and afraid, still smeared with dried blood that had to be itchy, looking anywhere but at him with red rimmed eyes from the tears that Steve knew he would never admit to. 

They were silent for a minute, and the gears in Billy's mind were turning, Steve could see it. His jaw worked and he stared out the sliding back doors to the silhouette of the bare trees and the red sky. 

"Hey." Steve nudged his leg with his foot under the table to get Billy's attention "How about you go take a shower and patch up that shoulder that you still haven't patched. Think about this. Come back and tell me what you saw this morning. Okay?" 

He didn't want to be left alone. Not here or anywhere, but he had needed a minute when he found out about all this shit and he hadn't gotten one. Billy could have that time to take it all in, and Steve wanted to give it to him. 

When the other boy walked away from the table, he clearly didn't want to leave Steve alone either. He looked at him long and hard, and Steve made his expression carefully neutral. He wasn't afraid. 

To his credit, Billy didn't take long. In fact, he nearly jogged back down the stairs and into the kitchen, and Steve didn't miss the little sigh he let out when he locked eyes back on him, right where he'd left him. He felt pleasantly warm, then, until he noticed that Billy was all dressed in his clothes from the day before. Even his boots. 

"Okay Princess, get some clothes on."

"What the Hell?" Steve wasn't sure how much more confusion he could take today, and it wasn't even 7 o clock in the morning. 

"Where're your car keys? We'll take your car-- your little friends'll freak if they see the camaro--"

"Whoa whoa whoa-- What're you talking about?" 

Billy looked at him like he actually was high, or stupid. Probably both. "You said that zombie kid--"

"Will Byers." He corrected, swallowing around the rush of irritation that accompanied that dumb nickname.

"Yeah, whatever-- his family's in on this, right?"

Steve nodded dumbly. 

"I'm taking you to them." Billy explained, saying it like this was all so obvious. 

"No." Steve didn't even hesitate. 

"No?"

"Absolutely not. I can't do that to them--" 

"Bullshit, you can't. Get some clothes on and get in the fucking car, Harrington!" 

Joyce Byers was just getting her life back together, Will Byers was the only person who looked like he slept less than Steve, Jonathan was finally not constantly needing to carry that whole family on his back-- Steve was not bringing this shit back into their lives. Not after Will almost died, twice. Not after Bob... Poor Joyce was just... 

Besides, what if whatever was going on cottoned back onto Will? With his track record with the Upside Down, it was hardly a stretch. Steve would die before he put that kid back in harm's way. 

"No." Billy reached forward and physically pulled him up and out of his chair, making the gauze rub painfully against his injuries, and Steve cried out. 

Billy let go of him so fast, it was like the contact burned him. The anger was gone from his eyes in a split second as he scanned Steve over regretfully. 

"No, Billy."

"Why?" he was still holding him, but gentler now. "Why the Hell not?"

"Cus, I... I'll be seeing them all tonight. I'm not waking anybody up to freak them out when I can tell them all together at Hopper's. Then, everyone's on the same page, and-and..." he had forgotten about going to Hopper's until the words were out of his mouth. Shit. He briefly considered saying he was sick, but he was supposed to drive all those kids, and he could just see their sad little faces in his head. Nope, he was going. 

Billy was looking at him like he was trying to catch him in a lie, but he seemed to find what he said to be satisfactory, because he let go of Steve and nodded.

"Okay." he slumped a little, his arms circling around his waist and his hands gently petting the small of his back. He nodded again, like he was resigning himself to something "Alright, Harrington." 

They abandoned the kitchen for the living room, Billy toeing his boots back off as they settled into the sofa. The first of the birds to return from the south were singing outside the sliding door, and if Steve's entire torso didn't feel like it was on fucking fire and if he could get the mental image of Billy Hargrove crying while covered in his blood out of his head, then he could maybe have pretended that this was a normal day. But, his chest was screaming and his back felt like it was being rubbed up on by a cheese grater. Billy's eyes were still red rimmed from earlier, but at least the blood was gone. He'd even wrapped his shoulder. 

"Could you maybe tell me what happened now?" Steve didn't know why he suddenly felt so shy, looking over at the blonde boy out of the corner of his eye and asking for details of his first Upside Down related trauma. Billy sighed, but smiled, licking his lips in that way he did and leaning in. 

"You want me to focus and then you look at me all pretty, through your lashes like that?" He whispered, a hair's breadth from Steve's face. "That's no way to get things done, Princess." 

"You're deflecting."  
"You don't wanna know." his face went more serious, but he didn't move from where he was. He brushed Steve's unstyled hair away from his forehead.  
Billy was right-- he definitely didn't. "I have to. This isn't about what I want." 

Billy, remembering the earlier instance of grabbing Steve and jostling his injuries, took the route of gently maneuvering him to sit closer, pressed against his side. 

Steve had been surprised at first when he realized that the tactile nature of Billy Hargrove extended further than punching the shit out of people. He was a physical person, he connected to people through touch-- he sure as Hell wasn't great with words (unless he was calling Steve "Sweetheart" in that way he did. That was pretty nice). Thinking about it now, Steve couldn't imagine Billy any other way-- being cold or aloof just wasn't his style. Whether it was good or bad, Billy was in the thick of it, riding the emotion and action in a terrifyingly raw type of way. 

"Please?" Steve brushed his fingertips across the other boy's exposed collarbone (it was 45 degrees outside, and Billy still had no fucking clue how to button a shirt. Not that he was complaining). "I need to know, Billy. I told you." 

"It was... crazy." he huffed a humorless laugh "Like, really. I thought I had fucking lost my mind. I was sleeping, and then I felt something... cutting up my shoulder, I felt that and I woke up. You were--" he cleared his throat, and Steve rested his head on Billy's shoulder. This was easier without eye contact. "You were still mostly under the blanket, but it was so damn hot, and I didn't get why. I folded back the covers an' you were, um. Your skin was just opening. Like, it was... I don't even know. I don't fucking know. You were getting all cut up, and they just appeared out of nowhere, no one was physically there but me." his voice shook a little, and Steve didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry"? That wouldn't make any sense. "It's okay" would be a lie, because none of this was fucking okay. 

"Thank you." he finally said, more breath than word, and he was sure he sounded dumb, but it was the only thing to say to break the wretched silence. 

Billy didn't respond. They sat in silence again, but it was familiar, now. It was almost peaceful. At least, it would be if Steve's mind wasn't racing with question after question. He wanted to cry and rage and sob because he had no idea what went wrong. Why wasn't this over? 

The sun crawled into the sky, but the light was watery and cold. There was a light drizzle outside, but not enough to be rain. Steve and Billy just sat in the quiet for a very long time, listening to each other's breathing and heartbeat respectively. The stupid grandfather clock in the hall that his mom had bought in London that one time chimed on the hour. It happened once. Then twice. When it had chimed that three hours had come and gone, Billy deemed the silence worthy of breaking. 

"Where're your parents?"

A great question. He didn't really know. 

"Business trip." He replied dryly. 

"Huh." Billy hummed, stroking Steve's hair now, and it felt so nice "How long have they been gone?"

"A while." 

"When're they--"

"Where the Hell is this going, Hargrove?" he snapped. What was the fucking point? Did he want to take off his bandages and pour lemon juice on them, too? His parents were gone. They were just gone, and honestly, it was for the best, considering that Steve could go fight evil whenever without worrying about all that family shit. Maybe Steve was still a little jealous of Will and Jonathan when he looked at Joyce Byers and saw how deeply she loved her sons. Maybe he stayed up at night as a little kid wondering what was so wrong with him that his own parents didn't want to be around. And yes, maybe Steve was still angry with them (he was fucking pissed), but when it came down to it, he understood. If he were them, he wouldn't want to be around him either. 

"Okay Harrington." Billy let the silence go for a bit, but Steve knew something was coming "They neglect you?"

Steve breathed as deep as his injuries would let him, choking a little on the oxygen as he tried to will himself to be calm. 

"Yeah." he ended up croaking the word. That was what it was, he supposed. Neglect.

He wondered, absently, if his mom would even notice the parts of the blood stains that he couldn't get out of the sheets. If his dad would notice the change in his son's chest when his gashes inevitably scarred. He wondered if they'd ever even come back. 

He had bigger things to deal with, though. Like thinking about how to explain that morning's events to Hopper and Dustin and everybody. And how he was ever going to look Joyce Byers in the eye again after bringing the Upside Down back to her doorstep. 

Or he could just lay on the sofa with Billy Hargrove and try to forget for a while


	5. Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Another dialogue heavy chapter, guys. But this one was so fun to write that I don't mind. I really wanted to build the good feelings of family and home (which are definitely feelings as much as things, guys) between Steve and the rest of the team before I blow everything to smithereens with plot! MUHAHAHHA!
> 
> Drop me a comment if you like what you read! What's you favorite part so far?

Getting into his car made Steve grit his teeth and wince against the pull of his injuries rubbing on his bandages.

It wasn't as bad as putting on clothes had been. Lifting his arms higher than his shoulders was more trouble than it was worth, and his posture was awkward at best. Billy had smirked at him from the threshold of the bedroom-- since he refused to leave him alone for longer than it took to take a piss-- and watched as he struggled with the arms of his sweater.

"You're the one that didn't want my help." he'd teased, mockingly cheering for him when he finally managed to pull himself together, panting from the exertion. He had been kind enough to hand Steve his shoes, though.

"Thanks."

"Doesn't mean I give a shit, Your Highness." he jabbed with harsh bite, but cleared his throat and softened his words to say "Don't get used to it." looking bashfully at his feet with a little grin.

He had refused to leave until Steve was just about to get out the door to get the kids. The blonde clomped his way out the back door with another assurance of how little he cared. But he left Steve with a searing kiss that made him tingle all the way down to his toes just before that, so Steve just rolled his eyes and let himself blush that "pretty pink" he knew Billy liked.

He started the engine and let it idle as he caught his breath from a spike of pain that rocketed up his spine as his back made contact with the seat. His eyes went warm and his vision blurred.

He'd never get this past Dustin at this point, let alone Hopper and Joyce.

Not that he was really trying to, but if he could manage to hold off on breaking this news until after dinner, for some type of opportune moment, that would be great. And, if nobody figured out that the majority of Steve's body was marred with otherworldly claw marks, he could let it slide until tomorrow.

Putting all of his energy into relaxing his muscles, Steve exhaled a long breath and forced himself to slouch into a somewhat normal posture. His palms were sweating as he pulled out of his driveway.

Thankfully, he only had one stop to make, since the kids were all already at Mike's playing D&D that day. Steve crossed his fingers and banked on the idea that they would all distract each other enough to just let him drive the damn car.

By some miracle, they pulled into Hopper's driveway (there was an actual driveway now) without incident. All the kids let out oos and ahhs at the state of the place, and Steve couldn't help but join them.

When Hopper had gotten Eleven officially adopted as "Jane" and started the long and arduous process of getting her schooled up to snuff with a typical high school freshman and filling out a mountain of paperwork, the Chief started talking about doing things "right" this time. The biggest part of that for him, apparently, was getting a real house. The kind with a yard and a fence and enough space for a young girl to run around with her friends.

When he told El about the idea of moving, though, he was hardly expecting the nearly violent, heartbroken reaction he got. She loved the cabin, it was her home. "But I can go outside now, you let me go outside now, why do we have to go?"

No one had thought Eleven even remotely enjoyed the cabin. For a solid three days, the Chief walked around with this air of vague puzzlement that nobody could really get him to shake. Not even Flo.

So, he and his new daughter sat down and had a chat. After thirty minutes of plying her with eggos and candy, Hopper broached the topic of renovations to the cabin. And he wanted her input.

It looked beautiful. There was a new driveway, some trees had been cleared for a yard, the porch had been expanded and the cabin itself looked like it had swallowed a watermelon-- it had easily doubled in size. The style of the house had remained, reminding Steve of Abe Lincoln, and frontiersmen. He had no clue how it all got paid for (he got the impression, though, that there was some money from Doctor Owens and Hawkins Lab involved).

It still suited the gruff chief, but it suited El, too.

It was getting dark, but it was warm and bright inside, still smelling like fresh paint, but also food. They had moved back in barely two weeks ago, yet it already felt like a home. Steve was barely in the door before he was biting his cheek against a surge of jealousy. He'd been living in some gilded tomb all alone for most of 18 years-- how did they make this place an actual, real home so quickly? It was stupid, he felt so stupid.

"Hi Honey, how are you?" Joyce came out of nowhere, and Steve didn't have time to think about why she was answering the door and not Hopper, before she was wrapping him up in the maternal sort of hug that usually he would bask in.

But, this time an explosion of heat erupted from her touch as she fucking squeezed his back, and Steve barely choked back some sort of noise that would give everything away.

"Honey?" She pulled back, noticing something with some weird, supermom instinct (functioning ears). Or, it was because Steve had been too distracted by the stars popping in his line of sight to hug her back.

"Y-Yeah, Hi Mrs. Byers.. How's it going?"

"I'm fine, are you okay? You look pale.." she brushed one of her soft hands against his cheek and she was just so nice to him sometimes, it made his heart ache.

"I'm fine, just a little distracted lately." It wasn't technically a lie, and Mrs. Byers gave him a nod, not pressing the subject.

The kids had run off the second they spotted Jane, Mike nearly falling over himself in his haste, and Hopper shouted from the kitchen for them to "Be careful for Christ's sake..."

Nancy and Jonathan and Steve split off into the kitchen with Hopper and Joyce. None of them were very comfortable, but the new kitchen was cozy and beautiful, and conversation somehow flows pretty easily, especially once Hopper offers them each a beer.

"Nobody's driving for hours-- you're all eighteen, right?" None of them answered, but he didn't take them away or ask again. He stood at the stove, close beside Mrs. Byers, who was actually smiling. Steve could count on one hand the amount of times that he had seen her calm. His bandages rubbed at his nerve endings, then, and he cracked open the beer, hoping a drink would ease the pain. "How's school, kids?" Hopper asked then, speaking around a cigarette hanging from his mouth. Steve was hit with a reminder of when Billy had offered him a puff of his smoke on the steps outside of school.

He took a swig to hide his blush, careful about how high he lifted his arm.

The evening was so easy. Spending time with these people-- people he never would have thought to talk to just a year ago, people his parents would hate-- was so warm and simple, and by his second beer, Steve felt almost like his normal self. It was such a nice, fuzzy feeling when he had an evening to forget how lonely he was, how his parents were gone. If he wanted to delude himself into thinking that they liked him as much as he liked them, he'd say they were his family. Mrs. Byers kept shooting him glances that said that she still remembered what happened earlier, but Nancy and he were nearly back to their old friendship. They talked like friends, and Jonathan joined in, too. The kids were laughing and talking in the living room.

By the time they sat for dinner, started passing plates, chatting and laughing, Steve had almost forgotten all of the horrors of that morning. Hopper's house was so comforting and chaotic, and he wondered absently if Billy had ever had something like this. Max seemed to blend in seamlessly.

Steve wished Billy was here.

"Steve, you're hurt." came the small voice of Jane next to him. Steve almost didn't hear her, but everyone else seemed to, because suddenly everything went silent.

"What was that, Sweetie?" Joyce frowned worriedly, brown eyes flitting between the two of them.

Steve felt like the world dropped away for a second-- the fucking psychic child. How did he forget about the PSYCHIC child? He was trying to hide an entire torso full of gouged wounds from these people, and he sat down to dinner next to the little girl with actual superpowers.  
  
He glanced over at Jane, squinting up at him, fixated like a heat-seeking missile. He couldn't hold her gaze for fear of what his eyes would give away, and was about to just say it-- yes, I was mauled by an invisible dream creature-- when he felt a tiny finger poke him in the neck just under his jaw.

Huh?

"Oh my god, Steve Harrington" Nancy broke the silence with a mock scandalous tone, barely holding back a laugh "Is that a hickey?"

Fuck.

Not again.

At least it wasn't the other thing. 

Still, it caused quite the calamity at the table.

"A... hickey?" Jane looked confusedly over at Hopper, who was probably going to kill Steve later, based on the tight look on his face exemplifying a parent who has just been thrown into the Birds and the Bees without warning.

"Would someone please explain what the Hell that is?!" Dustin cried dramatically.

"Yeah-- my mom got pissed when I asked, you owe me!" Lucas chimed in.

"Oh, Jesus Christ." Steve sighed, melting into his beer and wishing the ground would swallow him up.

The one good thing to come out of the whole thing was Jonathan Byers laughing so hard he wheezed. Steve had never seen or heard that before. It made him think of the other night-- just the night before, actually, even though it seemed a million miles away-- when Billy's eyes had crinkled at the corners and he'd laughed. His lashes looked so thick and dark and his lips were so pink--

Nancy kicked him in the shin, saying something about "How could you not tell me!? C'mon--"

"Should we set an extra place, Steve?" Joyce asked with a sly smile "You should give her a call and tell her to get over here, we'd all like to meet her." She singsonged, winking dramatically while Hopper took a long pull on his beer.

"We would?"

"Shut up, Hop-- of course we would!"

"Yeah, Steve-- bring her over." Nancy was beaming at him, and he glared at her, but force of his blush probably made it way less intimidating.

"What the Hell is going on?" Mike said "Meet who? They can't see El!"

The kids raised another ruckus, only for Max to cut in with "It's a hickey, you dumbasses! From a girl!"

"Yeah, no shit, we know." Dustin had long since lost his lost his patience. "But what does that mean?! What girl?"

"Steve's hurt!" Jane spoke up again, louder and more urgent, and this just couldn't get worse, it really couldn't. Steve was blushing so red he felt like he was about to burst into flames.

"Alright, Alright-- Change of subject." Hopper raised his voice over the din, and Steve was so grateful. So, so grateful. "Somebody please, for the love of God, change the subject."

"The renovation looks beautiful, Chief." Steve piped up, desperate to get the ball rolling out of this terrible conversation.

Hopper gave him a deadpan look, saying "Thank you, Steve." with no emotion at all.  
  
Joyce picked it up from there, and dinner passed without any more incidents. Jane continued to stare at him relentlessly and Nancy and Jonathan shot him looks across the table. Somehow, it was still comfortable. There was still warmth and love around this table, and Steve felt more welcome than he did at his own house. He thought about what Joyce and Nancy had said, about wanting to meet "her". With no small degree of shock, he realized that he still wished that Billy was there. In a perfect world, where no one would disown or beat or kill him for it, he would love for Billy to be a part of this. With Steve, as Steve's... person. Steve wanted Billy to meet these amazing people and for his little group to meet Billy, but as Steve saw him. When he laughed and smiled and called him "Sweetheart". Not the crass, belligerent maniac that he was to the rest of the world.

Steve wished it could be like that for a melancholy moment, before standing to collect plates for Mrs. Byers.

He didn't ask why Joyce was doing the dishes and not Hopper, the same way he didn't question her answering the door. Joyce was smiling while she did it, and what she did to recover from what happened to Bob was her business. He scraped the plates and put the leftovers in old Cool Whip containers, stacking them neatly in the fridge before taking over drying the dishes.

He was kind of avoiding Dustin, who had learned from Max that hickeys came from "girls" and now was looking dejected in the corner for some reason. He would ask before they left. He was definitely avoiding Nancy, who was stalking around like a jungle cat, trying to shock him into revealing the identity of his "girlfriend". Jane was at the top of the list, though, and he still felt her eyes on him, even though they were in different parts of the house.

"Hey kiddo--" Hopper came up beside him "Drying dishes is my job, stop avoiding your friends."

"We're already almost done, Jim, relax." Joyce ribbed him, handing him another beer before turning back to Steve with faux nonchalance, and he knew what was coming. "So-- this mystery girl..."

"C'mon Joyce, leave the kid alone."

Joyce ignored Hopper with a wave of a wet, sudsy hand, continuing "I just want to make sure you're happy, Honey. And safe." that part was said pointedly, emphasized in a way that made him feel weird "You are using protection, right?"

Thank God he hadn't been eating or drinking at the time, because he would have died choking.

"Oh my-- He's a fuckin' kid, Joyce! Let him live--"

"I'm just making sure he's not gonna have a fuckin' kid, Jim--"

Steve didn't even say anything, just handed Hopper the dishtowel and walked away. There was nothing to say that wasn't going to be more embarrassing (like that fact that, no, they weren't using protection, but nothing had gone wrong yet, so they were just rolling with it. It wasn't like Steve or Billy could get pregnant and they had no STDs.), so he slipped into the nearest bathroom as a means of escape.

It was a mistake.

He was sobering up-- not that he'd been more than buzzed, but whatever-- and the pain under his bandages was starting to throb again. Without the distraction of the conversations outside, and the beer and food, Steve was starting to sink like a stone. He was aching and exhausted.

He splashed some cold water on his face, and looked in the mirror.

That stupid hickey was big, dark purple, and he could even see the slight edges of a bite mark.

Goddamnit.

Resigning himself to the fact that the news was out, he dragged himself back out of the bathroom to find Dustin.

The kid was still over with the others, sitting a little behind where they had crowded around the coffee table, playing Clue. They kept shooting looks at Dustin, then looks at Steve, and he knew a hint when he saw one, so he made his way over. None of the rest of the kids turned around to greet him as he came closer, though, pretending to be engrossed in their game so they could eavesdrop.

He spent a lot of time with these dipshits. He knew their tricks.

"Hey Man." he greeted, dropping himself down onto the couch beside the kid as gingerly as he could while still appearing casual. He wasn't sure if he succeeded, but if he didn't Dustin didn't notice, for once.

"Hi." Dustin huffed, turning to look at him with a furrowed brow and big, plaintive eyes "It was just a girl? This whole time I've been worrying about you, and it was actually a good thing?!"

Steve's heart constricted painfully in his chest, and he hung his head as low as he could without feeling too much of his injuries. He exhaled a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. He didn't know where to start.

"Buddy-- it's more complicated than just a girl," boy, was it ever "you did have reason to worry. You're a good friend."

"But then why didn't you tell me about her? Why didn't you just tell me what a hickey was? Usually you would, you've explained other things! Why don't you ever talk to me?" he was getting a little loud, and Steve put a hand over his smaller one. It made him think of the center console in his car, and he smiled a little. His heart swelled with affection for Dustin Henderson. Steve didn't deserve him.

"It's more complicated than that-- it really is, stop looking at me like that." he squeezed the hand under his "I can't always say everything because sometimes I don't know where something is heading. I'm not going to bring somebody into your life who doesn't deserve to know you." he felt really sappy saying it, but it wasn't actually a lie. It sure as Hell was complicated-- just Billy as a person was complex enough, adding in whatever type of feelings were between them, both of their fucked up families, and the Upside Down made Steve's life a damn maze.

He nodded, looking like he was (hopefully) accepting Steve's half-bullshit reasoning.

He'd like to think that Dustin would accept him and Billy, but he knew that that was a pipe dream. Even if he didn't hate the whole queer thing, there was no chance in Hell that Billy Hargrove was getting a second chance from the kid. He hated Billy-- called him a "raging douchebag" and brought up literally all the time that he "pounded Steve's face in".

They were understandable grounds to dislike somebody, Steve had to admit. Sometimes he still looked in the mirror and thought he was crazy for doing what he was doing. And then, the next time he saw Billy, the next time he kissed him, the next time he made Steve coffee in the morning in nothing but a pair of Steve's own boxers (because Billy Hargrove was just too good to wear underwear)-- Steve was absolutely bewitched. There was nothing for it, he was done for. It was the most natural thing in the world, in the moment. And then, he'd look at himself in the mirror again, and call himself a crazy bastard. 

"Steve?" Dustin was looking at him like he was losing his mind.

"Yeah, sorry?"

He'd zoned out again. He could see the worry coming back to the kid's face, he was too smart for his own good.

"You zoned out again. Thinkin' about her? Or are you not sleeping again?"

"I..." as if fate was pulling the strings, Steve suddenly had to stifle a yawn which made his eyes water and his wounds tear and burn in their bandages. He hid his wince by prolonging the yawn, which was good enough for Dustin, who took it as an answer.

"Okay, Buddy. You're gonna take a nap." He grabbed an afghan from seemingly nowhere and stood from the couch, trying to bodily lift Steve's legs and force him to lay down.

"No. no, no, Kiddo, I'm okay, it's just--"

"I'm not letting you drive until you've slept, Steve. It's not safe, I'm sick of you doing this!" that made Steve listen, if only to get Dustin off his legs. If he was being forced to sleep, he'd need control over the rate that his back touched the cushions as he laid down, or he'd burst into tears.

"Jesus, okay-- I said okay!" 

He rolled his eyes when Dustin all but tucked him in, shooing the kid away.

For all the resistance he put up, Steve was asleep in less than a minute.

Hopper was still in the kitchen after the Harrington kid escaped from Joyce, leaving just the two of them to finish washing and drying the dishes. Joyce had been such a help, such a good friend throughout the renovation. Earlier than that, really. Maybe they both needed someone right now: him relearning how to be a parent, her struggling with the loss of Bob, still.

If anyone understood single parenting, it was Joyce Byers. If anyone understood grief, it was Jim Hopper. You see how this works out.

He couldn't remember, really, when her big brown eyes and the smell of her Camels started making his heart speed up, but it didn't matter. He shook the thought out of his head whenever it presented itself, and then they'd share a cigarette and shoot the shit. It was nice to have a friend, especially one like Joyce, that he hadn't had since high school. Someone to help unpack and find places for Jim's new life in this new, bigger place. Someone to help find possessions for a little girl who owned nothing but her reclaimed name.

Jim was happy just to stand next to Joyce and dry the dishes.

Jonathan and the Wheeler girl came in a little later, her talking and him listening-- about Harrington, no shock there. The kid was the talk of the table, apparently didn't look in the mirror before he left his mystery girl this morning. Nancy was smiling like the cat that caught the canary, Jonathan smiling at her in a completely different, softer type of way as she told him how happy she was for her friend. But, why didn't he tell them? How did they not notice? Steve had been a vault that night, just giving his ex girlfriend a little chuckle and a shake of his head when she asked for a name.

"Or even just a hint, Steve!" she tried again.

"No, Nance." he grinned, but he also looked embarrassed, maybe a little sad.

Jim didn't try too hard to understand these kids. He knew, objectively, that of course they were having sex, he had been too, when he was their age. But, they just seemed so young now. The idea of Joyce even needing to ask Steve Harrington if he was using rubbers was foreign to him until it was happening right in front of him. That (very dark, frankly, impressive) hickey on his neck looked so out of place.

He was getting old.

More time passed. It was getting late, and Jim was debating whether or not to pull out the sleeping bags and the pull out couch for their guests-- he knew Jane would be bounding in any minute to ask. The guest room was already made up.

And then there she was, her curly head bouncing into the room, right up to where Joyce and Jim were chatting at the kitchen table. Her face looked a little more serious than he was expecting, and it immediately put him on high alert.

"What's happenin'?" he turned, leaning toward her as she came in closer to them.

She pursed her lips and looked his face over, and then Joyce's, like she did when something was really wrong, and his heart was picking up. He was about to tell her to spit it the Hell out when she finally opened her mouth and said:

"Steve's hurt."

This again. He swallowed the irritation and relief in one sip of beer and saw the laughter in Joyce's eyes when they gazed at each other. She was teasing him.

He sighed "That's not, um, that little bruise isn't what it looks like. Nobody hurt him, he's actually..." He didn't need to finish that sentence, did he? He could stop there, right?

"No. Steve's hurt, there's something wrong."

Okay, so this wasn't what he thought it was. His heart picked up again, and Joyce was back to the familiar expression of thinly veiled panic that she'd worn so often in the past two years. Since she met Lonnie, since they graduated, really. He didn't have the time to think about that though, getting up from the table just in time for the sound of Will Byers to reach their ears. He looked at Jane, but even she looked somewhat surprised by this.

"HELP! Help, Steve's bleeding!"

He couldn't even describe the feeling he felt, running down that hall that suddenly seemed much longer than it was.

Jonathan, pale and wide eyed, met them halfway, clearly on his way to get them. He tried to open his mouth to explain, but by the time they saw it, they understood that there were no words to explain it.

Steve Harrington was lying on the couch, draped with a blanket where he had obviously passed out. The kid had looked pale earlier, Joyce had voiced some concern. That was before certain bruises and their meanings gripped everyone's attention, though.

The kids were frantic, pulling the blanket off, Dustin was shaking his sleeping friend by the shoulders, trying to wake him. Will was shouting, on the brink of tears, and ran up to his mother, saying "I heard them-- I heard the demodogs, and I couldn't see them, but they were there! I know they were there, and Steve didn't even wake up, he was--"

There was a violent, gushing wound in Harrington's shoulder-- a bite. Like the Doctor's. Like Bob's. Something had torn through his sweater as he laid there, and he didn't even wake up. Nothing had even physically been there. None of the kids were hurt.

What the Hell?

Coming to his senses, Jim shooed the kids, especially Henderson, away from the sleeping teenager.

"H-Hey. HEY. HEY KID, WAKE UP!"

He shook him, even slapped him a little, but there was nothing.

Then, there was the sound of ripping fabric and the strange squelching and snapping sounds of flesh being torn as a new wound opened itself right before his eyes.

He shook Steve harder, willing himself not to think further than the moment. Not letting himself consider how he'd explain this to this kid's parents. Not letting himself remember how it felt to lose a child.

"HARRINGTON, C'MON!"

It was such a relief that Jim felt briefly like he could float away on it when Steve opened his eyes with a gasp, trembling violently in his arms, and Jim just held him. The kid was shaking so hard, his breathing was erratic and then the pained whimpers and cries that sounded like they were being ripped out of him started.

There was a knock at the door, and Hopper couldn't fucking imagine someone with worse timing.

Whoever they were, they must've heard the noises Steve was making, and started hammering on the wood of the door so hard it would've broken the damn thing had Jonathan not gone to open it.

Somebody-- some kid-- was bursting his way into the house the moment the door was unlatched. Steve Harrington had passed out in Hopper's arms, and he was staunching the bleeding from his stomach. The kids were yelling-- the new guy especially-- and he had had damn near enough of this shit.


	6. Very Long Nights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been my least favorite to write, so far. It was more difficult to put together, and I might add an extra chapter to develop all the things I want to develop. It's still good, though! At least, I think so! 
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments! The response from you guys so far has been so overwhelming and encouraging! Thank you!

Steve didn't know where he expected to wake up, but this wasn't it. He didn't really remember where he'd been when he passed out-- there had been that nasty smell of the Upside Down, blood, people had been screaming and shouting, hands were on him and God everything had hurt so much. It was all a blur of color and noise, and for the amount of pain he had been in, Steve had almost expected to not wake up at all. To be dead.

The bed was big, but not excessively so, like his parents' or anything. It was soft and the sheets were flannel, but Steve still groaned against the pillow as he woke up to the burning pain of his abdomen (more like his entire goddamn body).

Everything ached to varying degrees. He was freezing, too, despite the extra warm sheets and pile of blankets he'd been buried under. He didn't realize that he was trembling, however, until a remarkably tender hand curled around his and gave a small squeeze.

Steve moaned again, keeping his eyes closed for as long as possible.

"Steve, Honey?" it was a woman. She sounded scared. Maybe it was his mom. "Hon, open your eyes, we know you're awake. C'mon, Steve..."

It was Joyce Byers.

He knew the voice had been too kind to be his mom. Warmth wasn't her area of expertise.

He opened his eyes, squinting against the light of the overhead fixture until Joyce scolded somebody into turning them off.

That made it slightly better.

The room was cozy, not huge, but livable. There was a big bed, a dresser loaded up with rolls of gauze and medical tape and scissors, and a window on the far side. It looked out into the woods and it was obviously daytime. Mid morning.

Joyce was smiling at him, differently so then last night, when things had still been calm. He'd ruined that for her pretty spectacularly, if his fractured memories served him correctly.

"Man, you scared the shit out of us!" Dustin sat on his other side, and he was trying to be tough, but there were tear tracks on his cheeks. Steve had never felt worse than that moment, letting the fact sink in that he, Steve Harrington, was the cause of that kid's tears.

"How're you feelin'?"

Hopper was leaned against the threshold of the door. He had Steve fixed in a powerful gaze, unwavering, making him want to squirm. But when he tried to move, it only sent agonizing shock waves of pain through to his very fingertips. Steve cried out a little, trying to bite it back, but mostly failing.

"Hey, don't try to move, you're okay-- it's okay." Dustin lied kindly.

"Kid, we gotta talk about this. What the Hell got you?" Hopper pressed on. No doubt, he was worried about Jane, Steve would be too.

"Hop, take it easy, for fuck's sake..." Joyce sounded high strung and wired again "He's been through so much."

"Yeah, Joyce-- and we need to know about it. Cus, my psychic kid had a sixth sense for it, and your psychic kid heard invisible demodogs in my fucking living room--"

"Hey, hey! Guys, we'll get nowhere arguing here--" Dustin tried to mediate.

Focusing back on the softness of the sheets, Steve came to the sudden conclusion that he was shirtless. he was laying on his back, he'd been damn near swaddled in more fresh bandages, but his sweater was in a heap on the floor, evidently having been cut away from him.

"I'm so sorry..."

"No, no Steve." he hadn't realized he'd said it out loud until the room had gone quiet again, and Mrs. Byers was cupping his face in her hands "It's not your fault, none of this is because of you."

"Yeah, Kid. Don't do that to yourself, just...." Hopper had come in closer, scrubbing a hand through his beard "When exactly were you planning on cluing us in, here?"

"Last night, I swear-- I wasn't hiding anything from you for too long..." he couldn't look away from them, desperately searching for forgiveness. These were the only people he had, Steve couldn't just lose them. "You were just all so happy. Everything was so relaxed-- it was supposed to be over, and I..." his voice went soft, his throat dangerously tight around what were definitely not tears. The eye contact that was so important became too much then, and he had to look down. He had to look anywhere but at them, fixating on his own hands. There was still blood under his nails, and he wasn't sure how it got there.

"Steve. Don't do that. You can talk to us, okay?" Dustin sometimes talked like his little brother and his mom at the same time, and that was enough to give a guy a complex that Steve really didn't have the emotional stability for. "But, before you say anything else, I'm gonna grab the others--"

"No you're not--"

"Might as well get it over with, right? It'll be like ripping off a bandaid, you only say it once." the kid reasoned, and he was too damn smart for his own good. None of them moved to stop him again when he went to open the door and yell "Hey-- He's awake!"

There was a cacophony that could only be described as "a great scuffling". Chairs and couches were abandoned, the floor creaked under the sudden shift of so many feet, and then everyone was pouring in. Dustin sat himself on the bed next to Steve, maybe jostling him a bit too much and making him grunt at the shift of his injuries. The others clambered up to sit around his feet: Mike, Lucas, Max-- Jane came right up next to Joyce and honed in on Steve with a vaguely terrified, determined expression. Nancy looked consumed with concern, Jonathan's arm thrown around her. He looked pale.

But, the last person was maybe the last one he expected.

"How'd you end up here?" he blurted out without thinking. He felt the corners of his mouth turn up just barely, and forced himself back to a carefully blank expression.

Billy fucking Hargrove, with a sour expression that barely hid the worry in his eyes (and speaking of eyes, he had a Hell of a shiner), was standing in the threshold to the room.

They stared at each other.

"Pleasure as fucking always, Harrington." He deadpanned, rolling his eyes. It looked like it hurt.

"We tried to get him to get the Hell out, but he refused to leave without Max--" Dustin bristled, yelling right at Billy, and Steve lifted his arm as much as he could manage in order to grab the kid by the leg and chill him out.

"Hey! It's fine--" after that Steve had no fucking clue what to say, but he had to say something because this looked really weird. Like, really, incredibly, fucking weird. The kids were looking at him like he'd just invited Hitler to brunch. "I mean, we've talked a few times. There's no bad blood-- we're.. friends."

Billy let out a huff of air through his nose, one corner of his mouth turning up as he watched Steve fumble for the words. Steve didn't miss the release of some of the tension in the other boy's shoulders once all was said and done.

They were safe. Their secret wasn't out.

"Friends--?" Mike Wheeler started in, and Max was looking wildly from boy to boy as if she'd missed something vital, but Steve wasn't the only one fed up with this little sidetrack of a conversation.

"Can we get back on track here?" Mrs. Byers cut in "Steve, we need you to tell us what is going on. From the beginning."

The beginning. What was the beginning? He couldn't even really pinpoint when this all started, he didn't know. Something must've shown on his face, because after a long couple seconds, Billy sighed dramatically and said, like he really couldn't care less "How about this, Pretty Boy: When did that gnarly mess first start showing up on you?"

No one else was looking at the blonde, focusing on Steve, but Billy was giving him a pointed look that said "tell them, asshole-- but leave me out of it". Steve nodded, his heart swelling with a warm affection and gratitude for the bastard.

"Um, l.. night before last. Maybe, technically yesterday morning. I just... I woke up and I was covered in blood."

"Did you see what did it?"

"No, but I... this might sound stupid."

"It probably will-- shoot." That got Billy a couple dirty looks from Joyce and Max and Nancy, but he didn't spare a glance at any of them. His blue eyes were fixated on Steve with a ferocious intensity, and Steve just stared right back. It made it easier, to tell it to Billy like it was just the two of them.

"It was a smell, or maybe a taste in the back of my mouth, or... I don't know. Like something charred and musty. It felt like I was back in the tunnels."

It continued that way. Billy would fire off a question, waiting for Steve to stumble through his answer with a surprising lack of complaints. He only told him to "Hurry the fuck up, Harrington" four times. Steve told him to fuck off every time he said it, and Billy would wait until their tense audience was focused back on Steve before shooting him a tiny smirk.

It was more daring than they'd ever been. With all those people around. Steve willed himself to not blush, the whole time just keeping his mind as much as possible on the task of saying what had been happening.

"Was there anything that led up to this "mystery demodog" bullshit?"

"How do you know about demodogs--?" Mike and the rest of the kids were suddenly yelling at Billy and carrying on, and Steve was getting a headache.

"Hey. HEY!" he took as deep a breath as he could to shout and get the kids' attention "I told him."

"You can't do that--"

"You guys told Max! What the Hell--"

"Y'know what?" Hopper interjected. Steve was looking pale from the exertion. "It doesn't matter. Let's get back on track here, huh?"

He gave the go-ahead to Billy, looking like it physically hurt to do it, nearly snarling at him. But Billy just rolled his eyes like the rude fucking dickhead that he was.

"Do you need me to repeat the question, Your Highness?" Billy looked way more genuinely irritated now, his words carried more of a bite.

Steve just pursed his lips before replying "Since that thing with the Gate, I've had... I've been having some weird.. I've been seeing things. It started as nightmares, and then it became this paranoid feeling. I started seeing things about a week ago. I do this thing where I just shut down, it's like blacking out. I see everything that happens, but it doesn't feel like mine. Sometimes, I remember seeing shapes, shadows and things." Confessing to it felt like getting his teeth pulled, and Billy was giving him that violent look again, working his jaw as Steve talked about the episodes he'd been having, the glowing eyes that he saw in the shadows of his house, the demogorgen "faces" that could show up anywhere from the woods outside his house to the kitchen sink while he did dishes.

The one thing he hadn't told Billy.

"I thought it was just that thing you were telling me about," he tried to explain, looking plaintively at Hopper, still feeling blue eyes boring into him "that "PTSD" thing. But it kept getting worse. The dreams were the worst right before the first night I was attacked." he gestured to his bandaged chest. Was "attacked" the right word? He couldn't think of a better one. Hopper just nodded, taking in Steve's words with a guarded expression.

Eventually, there were no more questions to ask. Steve was chilled and exhausted and Billy was still burning a hole in his head with the sheer force of his glare. The tension was getting to be overwhelming in the room, and Dustin had scooted incrementally closer over the last few minutes, as if he would have to protect Steve from the terrible fate of getting his face caved in again.

Knowing Billy, Steve should have maybe been worried, but he wasn't. Not even when people started to disperse to the station, to the library (Steve very nearly had to push Dustin off of him to get him to go), or just out for a desperately needed smoke.

It was just him and Billy and the tension.

Now that they were alone, the anger (the concern, the fucking electric mania that made Billy who he was) was more palpable. Billy tugged a hand through his hair, paced like he needed to move or he'd explode, shot Steve a withering glare, and took several long, deep breaths before he finally came to sit on the edge of the bed. He chewed his nail and looked out the window for another solid minute before finally meeting Steve's gaze.  
  
For all the bullshit complicating his life right now, he was still the stable one when it came to him and Billy fucking Hargrove.

"Calm down." he finally broke the silence, and his voice was a quiet, measured thing.

"Fuck you, you asshole." Billy growled. "Fuckin' dissociation? You-- you absolutely INSANE fucker.... You've been driving around like that? Jesus Christ! I mean, Jesus, STEVE!"

"Got that out of your system?" He deadpanned, irritation itching him under his skin. As if he didn't know how fucked up all this was. Billy was looking at him now with seething rage, breaking into one of those wolfish grins, huffing a humorless laugh that meant trouble.

He was expecting a punch, still. Just because he wasn't scared of Billy anymore didn't mean his anger was any less predictable, and he was expecting to get goddamn decked.

Billy, though, grabbed him by the face not too gently and slammed their lips together like it was it's own act of violence. Like that first time up against the lockers so long ago. Steve trembled under the other boy's lips as he bit into his bottom lip harshly, but Steve responded enthusiastically anyway, fighting right back until the kiss went soft. It was tiring, as exhausting as a real fight, and their foreheads rested together as they pulled apart to breathe.

"Fuck you..." Billy breathed, so close to Steve's lips. Regret swept up and through every part of Steve as he finally pulled back enough to get a look at the other boy.

The black eye was worse from close up. There was a ring-shaped welt in the center, on Billy's cheekbone where the bruising was the most serious, and Steve hazarded to reach up a hand and gently-- so gently it was barely anything at all-- he brushed his fingertips against the side of Billy's face. Steve's irritation was all but gone, replaced suddenly by such intense anger that energy passed through him like lightning, and he stood up and walked to the window. He couldn't look at that bruise, he couldn't think about Billy's fucking waste of a father without wanting to actually murder him. He ignored the surge of pain from his injuries and Billy's protests.

"Get back in bed, Bambi-- Jesus, you're gonna fall right over!"

Steve ignored it again "I see your dad came home."

The silence made the room ten degrees colder. Steve was trembling, his head had started to throb, but he didn't care. He turned around to face Billy, and the look on his face was too much-- the rage in Steve's gut mixed with such profound sympathy, looking at how Billy stared at him from where he sat.

He looked mad. Billy Hargrove always looked mad, but he also looked taken aback. Shocked, and his eyes glistened suspiciously.

"Oh, Billy--"

"I don't want your fucking pity, Harrington--"

"I don't pity you! I fucking care, okay?"

"Yeah? Do you? Well, I don't give a shit about you." he stood, stalking to meet Steve by the window. He radiated burning rage, and the words had a bite that they hadn't in a long fucking time. Steve almost flinched.

"You deserve a stable, happy life." he said, and it felt like he had no control over the words that came out of his mouth anymore. "I just need to know you're safe, you asshole--"

"You need to know I'm safe? You, Steve Harrington, ringleader of some inter-dimensional survivalist girl scout troop, having dissociative episodes and waking up from Freddy fuckin' Kruger style dreams? You're fucking worried about me and my shithead dad?" his voice was low and dangerous, but also disbelieving. With Billy, Steve always had to look for the subtext. The underlying emotion was the real one, the anger was just a defense.

"How the Hell did you end up here last night?"

"All I did was come to pick up my fucking sister. I got home, my dad was pissed, sent me to get her. So what if I saw the directions to this place on your fridge! Bottom line is that I knew how to get here. I had to pick up Max, so I knock on the fucking door and what do I hear? A very familiar screamer." He grinned then, his stupid maniac wolf smile, but his eyes quickly went from shining with anger to deadly serious and fucking terrified. "You don't get to fucking scare me like that, Steve, I was...." he shook his head, backing up. "This could actually kill you, Steve."

It seemed to sink in for Billy, then. Something hit him and the rage deflated out of him. Like just two nights ago with their last fight. Steve's anger left him, too, and his knees nearly buckled with the shift. Suddenly, he was exhausted.

But, Billy was there. He wrapped his arms around his waist, which made Steve's injuries burn, but he didn't care. He trembled in Billy's hold and the other boy was trembling too. He helped him back to bed, kissing him like an apology as he sat back down beside him.

"Um, so... Bambi?" he said as they pulled away, needing to say something. Billy called him some pretty weird things which Steve always let slide (even Princess), but.. "Are you kidding me?"

Billy gave a little chuckle "Awh, you don't like it? You look just like him! Long skinny legs, big brown eyes-- you can't fuckin' walk, either. You should've seen yourself, Bambi, stumbling over to the window just now." his eyes gleamed as he looked at Steve. He didn't have the heart to tell Billy where to shove that nickname.

He kissed him instead. Long and sweet and he pretended his ribs weren't absolutely killing him. Billy kissed him back.

"You're not allowed to die, okay?" the blonde mumbled against his lips.

"Yeah okay, asshole." he replied.

He didn't know how close he would come, but he knew it was a promise he couldn't keep. Looking into those blue eyes, though, Steve felt safe.

It all ended when the creak of the door sent Billy flying back to the foot of the bed, standing far from Steve with his usual glowering expression.

It was just Joyce. She had an arm load of stuff which she balanced with ease, and didn't seem to notice anything peculiar as she came in. She smiled at both boys-- something that seemed to shock Billy enough for him to actually smile back.

"How're you feeling, Honey?" she focused in on Steve, rounding the bed and going right between him and Billy to press a hand to his forehead. She gave a little frown, but it was gone in less than a second. Steve wanted to ask why, but she was talking again. "The kids should be back from the library any minute, we're all meeting in the kitchen to discuss all this. I also brought you these." she placed a pile of fabrics on the bed by his feet "They're Jim's, so they'll be a little big, but they're warm."

That was good. He couldn't remember the last time that he didn't feel cold.

"Thanks, Mrs. Byers."

"We've talked about this, Steve-- call me Joyce." she smiled and it almost looked normal, only a little forced. Then, she turned to Billy, who had comfortably fallen into the background, watching. "As for you--" she lifted up a small plastic tube to him "this is for that eye of yours. It'll take care of the bruising."

For a long, horrible moment, Steve thought Billy wasn't going to take the damn thing. His stomach tied itself into a knot, willing the other boy to not be rude to this sweet, kind woman.

And then, he smiled.

And he took the tube with a tentative hand, like she was going to tear it away at the last second.

"Thank you, Ma'am." it was more breath than words, and Steve couldn't see the look she gave him before she left, but he knew that Joyce had just found a new friend in Billy Hargrove.

The meeting in the small kitchen was a bit stifling. Steve sat at the small table with Will and Nancy (who kept shooting him looks like he was losing his mind, or about to explode, and he was going to lose it any second), while everyone else was standing around the room. The kids had a big pile of books. Billy stood in the doorway, half in the living room, but close enough to hold eye contact with Steve.

"Alright," Dustin, of course, called them all to order "this is what we've come up with, based on what Steve has said and what we know about the Mind Flayer."

Steve still couldn't believe this was happening. He was curled in on himself a little, arms crossed in front of him. Hopper's thermal was soft and actually helped sap the cold a little, and Steve played with the sleeves that went all the way to his knuckles. It was a distraction from the absolute lunacy of what was happening.

What Steve took away from what was said was:

1\. Whatever it was, it was connected to the Mind Flayer and the Upside Down in some way.

2\. Jane and Will both heard the invisible demodogs right before the incident last night, so it wasn't only interacting with Steve.

3\. They didn't really know why it gravitated toward Steve, but Dustin supplied that Steve had been the one to light the hub on fire.  
  
"I think you're all missin' something." Billy had been silent the whole time, watching like a hawk. His eyes were on Steve, but Steve knew that asshole, and that didn't mean that he hadn't been paying attention.

"And what might that be?" Nancy sniped back. Mike must've filled her in on the fight at the Byers's, because if she had been wary of Billy before, she was icy now.

"I'm sure you won't miss the opportunity to correct me if I'm wrong, but you're not acknowledging something important." he pointed at Will "You. You said you got possessed by this Mind thing before, yeah?" He took out a cigarette and lit up, taking a long drag while Will nodded "You said it was like a virus." he gestured at Hopper with his cigarette, which the man didn't seem to appreciate, but he nodded.

"Spit it out, Kid."

"Viruses fuckin' mutate! Duh!" he rolled his eyes "It possessed the Byers kid, and it didn't work, so when it got out of him it hit a fresh target with a new tactic. This sounds like that movie, that new horror flick--"

"Nightmare on Elm Street?" Jonathan interjected dumbly, and everyone seemed confused, totally struck dumb to not only hear Billy fucking Hargrove speak so much, but to have it make so much fucking sense.

Steve felt an odd surge of pride.

"Yes. It's in your head, using your dreams to fuck you up."

That was somehow as reassuring as it was terrifying. He was looking right at him, and Billy had that little smile that he got when he knew he did something awesome (and that was awesome). His eyes, though, were stormy and troubled. Steve knew what he was thinking.

Steve was in danger all the time now. He was sick.

Suddenly, the feeling that he wasn't alone inside his skin hit Steve. He was aware now, of the musty, bloody tang in the back of his throat when he breathed. Something was in his head. It made him want to cut it out-- just slice down the center of his body until the thing had no choice but to get out.

"You good, Princess?"

He was shaking, he wasn't breathing-- he couldn't breathe without the feeling of those fucking tunnels gunking up his lungs-- and Steve was barely even seeing the rest of them in the kitchen, anymore.

"How.. H-How do we get this thing out of me?" he ground out the words like they were stuck in his throat, and someone had reached out to take his hand, calm him down. It wasn't Billy, it didn't feel large and callused and warm like him. It was Nancy. She looked at him with kindness, but also tears in her eyes and it just made him freak out more.

"I dunno." Billy said "I just got a crash course in this shit like, a day ago. That's all I've got."

"In that movie--" Hopper cut in with a rough tone "How to they beat it?"

"They don't..." Billy said "They just try to stay awake."

Nightfall comes fast, and Steve still hasn't shaken the claustrophobia of sharing his body and mind. He's wired, bouncing his leg and staring into space. He knows he should be tired, but he might as well have drunk a bathtub's worth of coffee, because he sure is jittery enough.

He supposes it's a good thing. A blessing, considering the circumstances, since he's not allowed to sleep at all until they figure this shit out. The group decided to fix it up into shifts, so somebody is always up with him during the night. Steve's torn between relief at not being alone and guilt that sleep gets to be one more thing that he takes from the people he's been trying to protect.

"Don't you blame yourself, Kiddo-- we've been over this." Hopper had said over dinner, while Steve pushed his food idly around his plate "We've got your back. We'll get this out of you."

He wished he could believe that.

And so began the first of some very long nights.


	7. The New Gate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOOOOOOOKAYYYYYYYYYY 
> 
> Y'all are gonna hate me for this cliffhanger. 
> 
> Steve has a panic attack in this chapter, so if that's something that's a trigger for you, be careful, Pal. 
> 
> Steve also makes a comment about suicide, but it's just a morbid reflection on his parents. It's not my headcanon that Steve is or has ever been suicidal. 
> 
> Comment if you like it! Or if you're mad at me for hurting everyone's favorite babysitter.

The first night starts in silence. He and Billy sit together for a few long hours appreciating that silence. They sit on the porch step, even though the night air is still bitingly cold, but the wind was still. The two boys stared out into the dark of the woods, and for the first time in two years, Steve wasn't nervous about what's out there. 

All the danger is already inside of him. 

There's a parasite, an otherworldly creature, trying to use him as God Knows What, and none of them knew how to stop it. If they were right, and it was a part of the Mind Flayer thing, then he was a goddamn finger puppet for the thing that killed Bob Newby. The thing that nearly forced sweet little Will Byers to kill everyone he loved. And, as much as they knew what it was doing to Steve, none of them had any clue why it was doing it, or what it's greater plan was. 

He takes the cigarette right out of Billy Hargrove's pretty mouth and takes a drag. 

It makes him cough, but he relishes the burn in his lungs. At least it isn't the damp, soupy air of the Upside Down that he feels like he's been inhaling since their discussion earlier. 

"Take it easy there, Sweetheart. Don't hurt yourself." Billy's voice was soft, and his eyes danced with laughter as he took in Steve's watering eyes. 

"You can't call me that here!" Steve whispered urgently around the cigarette, trying not to be too taken in by that smile. Billy glowed in the dappled moonlight through the trees and Steve hated himself for the way his heart skipped a beat. He was so easily swayed by this stupid asshole. 

"Sweetheart," he dragged out the word pointedly, just to be a dick "everybody else is sleepin'! We're safe." he scooted closer, pressing to Steve's side and providing heat that he hadn't known he needed. He plastered himself to Billy's side, then, and tried to ignore the glaring lie in the other boy's phrasing. Safe. As if they could ever be considered safe. 

Billy seemed to understand this. The air around them changed to something darker and heavier without a word. Steve vibrated with jitters and a misplaced desperation (for what, he didn't really know). He let Billy hold him, grounding him like he had from the first, sitting on the porch with a thoughtful furrow in his brow. 

Neither of them could be sure who tilted in first, but the kisses went from sweet and measured to fucking desperate in less than a moment. Billy kissed him like he was trying to consume him, and Steve would be happy to be consumed-- eaten up and not a part of this bullshit existence anymore. He just wanted to press pause for a while, to live in Billy Hargrove's kiss like this.

Pulling away felt like resisting magnetism, but Billy let Steve fall forward to rest on his chest instead of kissing him again. He took a long drag on the cigarette, blowing the smoke right at Steve and chuckling when he coughed. Then, he kissed him on the forehead.

The angle of their cuddling made his injuries burn with pain, but it was an afterthought now. Billy was warm, and he kept Steve close. 

"We can go inside, if you want..." he said after a long moment. The blonde boy hated the cold, he had bitched about it nearly every day with Steve. Yet, here they were, and Billy was-- for once-- not complaining about "fucking Indiana". As nice as it was, it was more than a little surreal to experience a facet of Billy fucking Hargrove that was seemingly content to sit outside in the cold with him. 

He shook his head, even though he was shivering in his coat and boots. At least he had finally learned how to wear long sleeves. They would work on the art of layering later. "Nah, it's good." he lied. 

Steve rolled his eyes, resting against Billy and sharing body heat. The heat made him sleepy, but the idea of sleep made him nauseous. His leg bounced with nervous energy, and the pain in his torso provided an annoying undertone of discomfort to what would have been deeply relaxing had this been happening a month ago. Back before Steve started physically falling apart. 

The juxtaposition of anxiety and exhaustion mixed like oil and water, and suddenly the line of contact between him and the boy next to him was just too much. Every inch of his skin became shivery and electrified, and he had to move, he had to do something to make it fucking stop. With a whimper that he couldn't hear himself make over the pounding of his blood, Steve shoved himself away from Billy, and it was so cold without him. The feeling got worse and Steve didn't know if he was going to cry or throw up or pass out. 

Billy was talking or something, and there was another, softer voice. 

They were arguing, but Steve couldn't be bothered with it as breathing got to be more difficult. There were hands on him where he was hunched in on himself, sitting on the porch step, and he couldn't help the noise that ripped out of his throat. The hands were trying to be gentle-- they were small and soft-- but Steve felt like he was being shredded by a demodog all over again. 

Billy shouted "STOP! Jesus, just trust him, Bitch-- He doesn't wanna be touched!" 

The hands were off of him then, and things slowly became easier to parse out. The two voices were still arguing as he came down-- well, the voice that wasn't Billy kept arguing while the blonde boy started murmuring in a tight voice to Steve. He didn't touch him, just sat close enough to let Steve feel his warmth as he mumbled quiet assurances. 

"Look asshole, you can't just--" it was Nancy. Nancy was the other voice, and conflicting feelings of dread and affection filled Steve with such speed that it made his head hurt. Maybe his head had already hurt-- he was just realizing the wetness on his face. He'd been crying. 

"I don't give a fuck what you think of me, Bitch, I'm here to--"

"Don' call 'er that..." Steve mumbled. He managed to look up at Billy then, and the expression on his face was too complex for Steve's scattered brain. 

It was like when he had mentioned Billy's dad-- like he'd just slapped him right across the face-- and then he just shut down. His face was hard and blank. 

"Yeah, whatever, Harrington."

"Steve?" Nancy was there then, putting her little hand on his back again, igniting his shoulder blades with agony. He stuttered away from her hand and heard Billy fucking growl at her. "A-are you okay? I came outside to... It's my shift, Steve. You were..." she cut herself off, and Steve finally was in a condition to make eye contact with someone other than Billy Hargrove (who had turned on his heel and stalked back a few paces, not looking at Steve. Steve wished he would come back, he felt colder now.) and turned to see her beautiful eyes. They shone in the moonlight, but differently than Billy's did. Steve couldn't help but compare. "C'mon-- let's get you a cup of coffee. It's freezing out here." 

If Steve hadn't stood at the threshold of the door until Billy deemed himself ready to come inside, Nancy probably would have locked him out. The tension between the two was as close to an act of violence as you could get without actual contact. 

Nancy was trembling with cold and anger and fear. She settled Steve in the dining room, not moving until he seemed more stable, and pointedly ignored the hard stare of the asshole in the corner of the room. Hargrove's arms were crossed and his eyes bored holes into her as she fluttered from Steve to the kitchen. She busied herself with the coffee pot, and didn't offer him a cup. 

It was her shift, after all. 

He was supposed to leave and go get some sleep. 

She waited, standing ramrod straight as the coffee dripped painfully slowly into the pot. The eyes on her never left, and if she wouldn't be risking waking everybody up in doing so, Nancy would turn around and tell the bastard to back off. 

She pours two mugs of hot coffee, grateful for something to do, and fixed it the way they both liked it. Hargrove was still glaring at her, but when she turned, suddenly he was right fucking there. 

"Do you mind? Your shift is over, get some sleep!" she whispered sharply. 

"I'll take that--" he took the coffee meant for Steve and she made sure to tell him so. 

"Hey! That's Steve's." 

He looked at her like she was an idiot and a hot pit of anger settled in her stomach. She bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from launching herself at him. 

His eyes glittered maliciously as he took a sip, and she hoped it was fucking scalding, but his expression didn't change. Like he was laughing at her. 

"You made it too sweet. Don't you know him at all?" he grinned viciously before turning on his heel and walking into the dining room. Over his stupid broad shoulder, Nancy could see Steve smile shyly at the asshole as he swaggered in. He looked soft, still a little rattled, and Nancy shook off a strange feeling churning around the anger in her gut. Like uncertainty, but different.

They shared a look before Billy finally left. She felt a weight lift off of her, and she could just about float away on the feeling. 

Steve took a sip of the coffee (it was too sweet, she could tell. He wrinkled his nose in that tiny way that he thought she didn't notice when he ate something he didn't like.). Shaking a litany of questions out of her head, Nancy took a sip from her own mug as she sat down across from Steve at the table.

"How're you feeling?" 

He shrugged, and she got the sinking feeling that this was going to be a long few hours. 

"Okay." 

Not too long ago, Nancy and Steve had sat in those exact same spots while she teased him for the love bite on his neck. It was still there, adding to the questions in her head that she was pointedly ignoring. Steve was paler than he had been then-- or maybe she just hadn't noticed, which made her ache with guilt-- which made the slightly more faded bruise stand out starkly. She couldn't help but stare a little. 

Steve didn't talk to anybody at school, really. There was no one besides her and Jonathan that Steve talked to, unless you counted the kids-- which, obviously she didn't, for this. 

Apparently, he and Billy fucking Hargrove were suddenly best friends, but, again, that wasn't even a possibility.

She couldn't just lose Steve. Her best friend. Watching him now, he was a shadow of who he'd been before. She wasn't really sure when the switch was flipped, but she knew she had disregarded it for too long. 

Nancy wracked her brain, going over all that Steve had said the previous day. It felt like a lifetime ago, when he'd been bandaged and propped up in the guest bed, trying to stumble through answers to Billy's questions. 

Then, she remembered something. Her brow furrowed and she hid the look from Steve in her coffee mug, thinking it over.

There was a discrepancy.

"So...." She really didn't know how to phrase it. 

Steve raised an eyebrow, quirking one side of his mouth up into a tired little smile. He used to smile at her like that across classrooms. It was a cockier type of look, then. His eyes were glassy and red rimmed now, not carefree and sparkling like they had before, but still deep and brown. He was still so handsome, just looking at him sip his coffee from across the table. 

She hoped whoever Steve was sleeping with deserved him.

"So?" he prompted, and she remembered she'd been saying something. 

"That mystery girl..." he blushed and it looked ridiculous against his ghostly white skin.

"Nance, are you fuckin' kidding me--" he groaned.

"No, no. Listen to me." and suddenly, her mind just drew a total blank. Steve was staring expectantly, waiting for her. "I... Well, you must miss her, right?" 

There was a beat of silence. Steve did that wide eyed glance both directions before fixing his gaze back on her-- the look that he used for when he was particularly confused by a conversation. 

"I.. I guess, yeah." He frowned.

"Yeah?" she nodded, finally figuring out where to take this "When did you see her last?" 

"'Bout a week ago, Nance. Where is this going?"

She didn't bother calling him on his lie. Now was not the time to start a fight, and Steve was already starting to look more tense. But, she knew Steve Harrington. 

She hadn't seen any bruise there last week in school. She knew how Steve bruised-- they had dated for a whole year-- and, while he bruised as easy as a peach, they never lasted longer than three days. They healed quickly. 

That hickey was not a whole week old. 

"Just asking, geez... She's probably just wondering where you are. I was just--"

"Being nosy. Nosy Nancy, that's you." He was half serious when he said it, but it was enough to make her laugh anyway. That made him smile a little. 

Steve was shifting around in his seat, his back held tentatively away from the chair as he squirmed. His lips were pressed into a firm line. 

"Are you sure you're okay, Steve?"

"Mhmm. Yeah, I-I'm..." he let out a little whimper that he couldn't seem to help.

"You don't seriously expect me to believe that, right?" She was using her old No-Nonsense Girlfriend voice, which was maybe a little underhanded, but she wasn't above playing dirty for the sake of her friend's well-being. 

"My.. The cuts on my back are-- They just hurt more than they did before, y'know?" 

An itch of anxiety crawled its way into Nancy's heart "Do you want me to wake up Joyce, or--"

"No! Oh my god, Nance, no... It's fine." he said, settling back into his chair a little, but his face still looked pinched and pained. He looked so different than Nancy Wheeler could have ever imagined him looking when she'd first met him. Or even just a year ago. 

It was really her fault that Steve was in this in the first place. 

"Steve..." she started, but never finished her whatever she was going to say. Steve reached out and grabbed her hand. He gasped in pain, and he was squeezing her hand tight in his as he rode a wave of what looked like absolute agony. 

She didn't know what else to do. She squeezed back. She stroked his hair off of his forehead, and blinked away the tears in her eyes. 

The rest of their shift passed mostly in silence. It wasn't comfortable-- like the silence between Steve and Billy just a few hours prior-- but it was companionable and Steve felt safe. Nancy would always be safe for him. 

He still loved her, in his own way. 

Nancy left sometime in the early morning when her shift was over. Steve didn't know who came to replace her until she kissed his forehead (differently than Billy had, less warm than him) and he mumbled a "g'night" to her. That made her smile, but she looked sad. 

Jane sat her little body right next to him instead of taking Nancy's seat, but she did fit her hand into where Nancy had just been holding his. Hopper came into his line of sight in her old seat, topping off Steve's coffee before filling his own. He fixed him with a carefully neutral frown, and Steve figured that he must really look like shit. He felt like shit. His back was on fire. His head was pounding. He was wracked with shivers and chills. He was exhausted, every bone feeling like it weighed a ton. He wished Billy was there. He bit back a whimper when he breathed a little too deep and the feeling of claws in his chest seemed to dig further into him. 

"How you feeling, Kiddo?"

Steve huffed a humorless laugh, he couldn't really help it. It made him cry out a little behind his teeth when a jolt pain shot through him. 

"That's bad." Jane explained to her father, like some type of interpreter.

He nodded at her with a less than patient smile that made Steve want to laugh again, but he didn't dare. 

"Yeah, I got that." he replied before focusing back on Steve. He wanted to cry from the thoroughly disorienting, shitty combination of caffeine jitters, brain numbing exhaustion, and agony. He took another sip of his coffee and tried to pretend that he wasn't about to have a heart attack. 

"I-I've been... I've been better, Chief." he managed to croak.

"Pain scale, one to ten?"

"One f-fucking hundred." 

Hopper just nodded "We'll get those bandages changed when Joyce gets up-- you've only got a couple hours before you've made it through your first night. Congratulations." He deadpanned, but somehow it still sounded kind. It confused Steve, his brain just wasn't prepared for such conflicting feelings. 

Jane squeezed his hand a little tighter, and he glanced at her only to find himself transfixed. Her brown eyes were wide with worry and a little teary. Steve didn't know what he ever did to deserve that look from her. 

"Shouldn't you be in bed?" he asked dumbly. 

"Jim said it was okay." her chest puffed out a little, proud of it like she was proud of going outside.

Steve nodded as much as he could without hurting himself. She noticed this, and frowned thoughtfully. 

"Kid, I've got a question." Hopper said after a long while, and the pain had tapered off into the new, heightened normal. Which meant that Steve now had the space in his cluttered brain for anxiety at the endless possibilities of what he might ask. "When you got here, and all that shit went down on my couch..." he rubbed a hand down his beard and seemed to think about what he was going to say "you already had bandages. The old wounds had been tended to-- almost expertly. Did you go to the hospital?"

Umm no. 

"Umm no?" he couldn't see where this was going. He really couldn't, and Steve wondered if that was from the exhaustion or just him. Steve wasn't the brightest, he could admit that. 

"Was someone with you?"

"When?" he was buying time, he figured out where this was going and it was not good. 

"When you were first attacked, when you first woke up with injuries." Hopper spelled out, trying and failing to be patient. 

"W-What about it?"

"Quit stalling, Steve. C'mon-- there's no way that you patched your back by yourself. Who was with you?" 

He was a deer in headlights. There was nowhere to go now, there was nowhere else to run. How could he keep this away from Billy? How could he protect them both from being exposed? 

He didn't say anything. Hopper was staring at him, reading him like a damn book, and Steve was sure it was written right on his stupid wide eyed face that he knew he had nowhere else to go with this. 

"Kid?" Hopper broke the silence that felt like it lasted decades, and Steve flinched at the sound of his voice, but he wasn't talking to him. He was looking at Jane. "Kiddo, you remember me teaching you how to work the coffee maker?"

She nodded. 

"Could you go start the coffee for me? Mrs. Byers will be up soon, and we'll make some breakfast."

"Eggos?" she said, hope in her voice and a little smile on her face. 

"Yeah, sure. Eggos, definitely." Hopper smiled a little too, but it didn't reach his eyes. 

Steve wanted to make her stay. Anxiety was slithering just under his skin and mixing with the caffeine in his bloodstream, making his heavy limbs tremble. 

Then it was just him and Chief Hopper, alone at the table. 

"Steve. Why are you so scared?" he sounded so concerned. It wasn't even his usual gruff "I don't care, but I totally care" routine. He looked almost like Joyce when he looked at Steve then, and it didn't even matter that Steve shouldn't say anything, because he couldn't anyway. Any and all words were caught in his dry throat, and he didn't know if he was going to laugh or cry or scream. 

He could blow his brains out in his own bedroom and his own father probably wouldn't even come up to see what the noise was until his body started to stink. 

And here was Jim Hopper, one of the most emotionally stunted people in Hawkins, Indiana, taking Steve's sweaty hand in his and expressing real, genuine concern. 

Steve hadn't really realized how little he meant to his dad until then. He knew, objectively, that his parents didn't give a shit about him, but then he met Joyce and Hopper, and felt more cared for than he had in his entire life. 

His back burned and his head pounded, his stomach was tying itself in knots over the idea of him and Billy on the edge of being discovered. Hopper was looking at him expectantly, squeezing his hand in both of his huge, warm hands. Steve was so cold and clammy, and the heat was all he needed to fall apart. 

"I-I.. I'm s-sorry, I can't. I can't tell you, I c-can't, I'm sorry--"

He wasn't really crying. He was kind of crying, but it was more the lack of ability to breathe, like earlier with Billy on the stoop, but worse. Steve was stuttering and gasping and sobbing, he couldn't fucking do this. He was lying to the only people that cared about him, not telling them about Billy, but he couldn't tell them without losing them. Steve couldn't fathom Hopper's reaction if Steve told the truth. If he knew about Steve being queer, let alone about Billy specifically-- nothing good would come of it. Steve felt no shame in who he was realizing that he was, but it was a simple matter of survival to hide it. He couldn't survive disapproval from Hopper, or Joyce, or Nancy, or Dustin, or any of these people. 

And they were so close to finding out everything. 

By the time he returned to himself, Jim had moved into Jane's old seat, beside Steve instead of across from him. His torso hurt even worse than before, his lungs felt nearly completely saturated with toxic air. He was shivering so hard his teeth were chattering, but he couldn't stop. 

Maybe he would die before any of them found out what he was, anyway. 

Hopper looked pale and shocked, running a hand through Steve's hair uncharacteristically gently (or maybe Steve didn't know him well enough). The longer he did it, the more Steve came down from wherever he was, and the feelings in his chest and back and lungs got to be easier to handle. He felt even more tired than before. 

Everyone was awake by 8 am. Steve was almost positive that Billy hadn't slept at all, but none of them had slept well, that was for sure. 

Joyce was the first one to come into the kitchen, smiling bravely at Steve. But, she looked at Hopper then, and evidently didn't like what she saw. The smile slipped off her face, and Steve absently added that to his endless list of things to feel guilty about. 

Jim was up in a split second, practically dragging Joyce into the kitchen with a look on his face that brooked no argument. 

While they were in the kitchen, Billy slipped into the dining room and sat next to Steve. He took his hand under the table, and Steve wanted to pull away, but he just didn't have the heart (or the energy to lift his hand, really). 

"What happened?" the blonde half-whispered, "Jesus, Steve, you're fuckin' hot..."

"Is now really the time?" his anxiety seemed to catch up with him, but somehow he managed to squeeze Billy's hand instead of pull away. The connections between his brain and his body couldn't seem to keep up with each other. 

Billy usually would have chuckled, but now he just rolled his eyes, a disbelieving look on his face "No, Asshole-- you're fucking HOT. Like, feverish!"

As if on cue, Joyce entered the room. There was more noise in the kitchen, indicating that there were more people up (Steve could hear Dustin and Max, and Nancy. Jonathan was probably the one cooking, he could smell eggs). 

"Mrs. Byers, I think Steve has a fever." Billy immediately piped up, and Steve made a noise of protest. 

He actually wasn't sure-- it had been so long since he'd had a fever. 

Joyce pressed the inside of her wrist to his forehead with a quiet frown, like she had the morning before. It felt like a lifetime since Steve had been laying in the guest room. Being awake for a full twenty four hours will do that to you, that he knew all too well. 

But this time, she didn't pull away with the same small quirk of a frown. Joyce pulled her arm away from him as if she'd been scalded by the contact, looking down at him with wide eyes. She bit her lip. 

"Oh Hon, That's a Hell of a fever." She took a deep breath and exhaled. Steve wished he could do that, but even with a shallow little inhales he had been taking, his injuries still pulled painfully. "Could you two boys come with me? Billy, you can help me re-bandage him up. I'll see if we can't get that fever down." 

Billy looked like he was about to protest, but they were both ushered upstairs by Joyce with such speed that Steve wondered if Jane telepathically assisted.

Joyce sat Steve on the bed and left the two boys there while she went to "grab Jim". Billy helped Steve remove his shirt in silence, and Steve felt fuzzy and disoriented. Billy was giving him a strange, soft look. 

"What're you lookin' at?" he nearly slurred, feeling drunk, cold and sweaty, and superiorly shitty. He couldn't tell where sleep deprivation ended and fever began. Still, though, the phrase reminded him of the day Billy first asked him why he didn't sleep. When he'd watched Billy sleep and thought that he looked so peaceful and beautiful. 

Billy looked older now, with that furrow in his brow as he lit up a cigarette, the deep emotion in his blue eyes that Steve knew was concern. 

"You, Sweetheart." he said, sounding sweet, but looking tense. 

"Do I look like shit?" he managed a half a chuckle, trying to make Billy give him some type of smile. Just something, anything but that awful sadness that was etched into his face. His eye was starting to look better, though, he noticed absently. 

"Yeah. You look fuckin' terrible." It wasn't said with laughter, it wasn't a joke. But it wasn't an insult, either. There was no heat in it. "But, you're still beautiful." 

Steve thought maybe he was hallucinating, or having a fever dream. 

"You're still not allowed to fucking die, you understand?" 

Billy was looking at him with an intensity that had until just a few nights ago, usually entailed a punch. But, he wasn't angry this time. Massively uncomfortable, yes. Horribly afraid, yes. His words were quiet and just a little broken. It was like Billy-- the Billy who started fights with everything that moved, who had nothing of meaning to say, who didn't care about anyone because no one cared about him-- was fraying around the edges.

"I said: do you understand, Harrington?"

Steve only nodded before stuttering out some kind of affirmative. 

Joyce still wasn't back, so Billy stood him up and started cutting away the bandages. They felt crusted over and grimy, and Steve needed to shower so fucking bad. He felt like he was in the tunnels all over again.

"Whoa." He heard Billy say behind him as the gauze started to fall away, making him colder. 

"What?" Steve asked, immediately feeling alert and awake, endless worst case scenarios strangling his brain from that one tiny syllable. 

"I... I gotta get Mrs. Byers. Don't move--" he closed the door behind him. Steve really couldn't help but look. His back felt sticky, it stung with the contact to the cold air, and he was shivering from fever and the sudden change. 

He didn't like being alone. 

He wished Billy would come back and call him beautiful again. 

There was a mirror in the en suite bathroom off of the guest room, and he fumbled for the light switch as he hurried in. 

His face was pale and his eyes were circled with dark, sleepless rings. His lips were red from how he'd been chewing on them. His hair was unstyled and starting to get greasy, flopping onto his forehead. 

His chest was even paler than his face, but the area around each gouged claw mark was raised and raw. Red and brown and some sickly gray color.   
But, that wasn't what Billy had run from. 

He went to turn around, craning his neck awkwardly to see the mess of his back. 

"Steve, stop!" 

Billy was back, with Joyce and Hopper just behind him, but it was too late. Steve saw his back, and barely had enough time to get to the toilet bowl before he threw up. 

Every score into the muscle of his back was raised, green and gray with white, oozing pus. The blood was still a startling, shockingly bright red where it hadn't been completely consumed by the infection. It was caked with grit that looked distinctly like ash from the atmosphere of the upside Down, and slime that looked all too familiar from the walls of the tunnels.

Steve Harrington was the Gate. The Mind Flayer was trying to rip it's way out of him from inside. 


	8. Medieval Torture Techniques

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS SO FUCKING LATE, IM SO SORRY
> 
> Cherish this update, because I can just about guarantee you that you won't get another until after Christmas. Happ Holidays, by the way! 
> 
> This does have suicide in it. YOU ARE WARNED. PLEASE BE CAREFUL,
> 
> At usual, please comment to let me know if you liked it!! You guys are spectacular!

The cabin felt heavy. It was like the universe knew there was something wrong-- the air felt still and warm, the morning was quiet. It could have been mistaken for a peaceful, contented type of hush across the house, but Max knew better.

It reminded her of the mornings after Billy and Neil had a fight-- like, a real knock-down, drag-out brawl. It could only be this peaceful when there was calamity in the near future or past. She pretended she couldn't hear them arguing most times, ever since the first one. It was back in California, and Billy had seen her over his father's shoulder in the middle of bracing himself for Neil's already-clenched fist. His eyes were suspiciously bright, and he had looked so frightened that it hurt her to think about. As he dodged hit after hit from Neil, Billy managed to make his way around to her, shoving her so hard away from the scene that it knocked the wind out of her, but the message was received: get out and you won't get hurt.

He was protecting her.

Every time he was mean to her after that-- grabbing her arm in the car, trying to scare her (and succeeding), yelling and raging like he did-- she couldn't reconcile the juxtaposition of Billy throwing himself between Max and Neil, and Billy trying to make her as miserable as possible. It wasn't until just a couple months ago that Max was able to make the connections between the two sides of her brother. He was manic and angry still, but something had softened.

He was trying to keep his cool. Like, making a real effort to be civil, if not kind.

And it didn't make much sense to Dustin (who just couldn't stop talking about how he and Steve were suddenly friends), or Mike, or even Lucas. But, Max knew him better. At least, she liked to think that she did. And somewhere deep down, Billy was a better person than he wanted to be seen as.

She and all the other kids were in Jane's room, sleeping bags and spare blankets spilled across the floor in front of her bed. They hadn't slept much, bouncing around ideas of what the Mind Flayer was up to, why it had picked Steve Harrington, of all people, and how the Hell Billy even came to be here at all, let alone a friend of Steve's who knew all about the Upside Down.

Nothing added up properly.

That morning, she and Dustin woke before the others.

Well, Jane's spot was empty, but Mike had cuddled up to Will in her place. Max bit her lip against a laugh when Dustin nudged her to draw her attention to the two best friends.

It was sweet, she supposed.

Lucas was sleeping soundly beside her, laying closer than her other friends, and Max's heart betrayed her with a little flutter that made her want to roll her eyes.

She let him sleep.

She and Dustin crept out of the door and down the hall to the kitchen, still sleepy.

Jonathan Byers and Jane stood side by side in the kitchen. Joyce had a cigarette in her mouth and a cup of coffee in her hand, impossibly more stressed than before. Nancy and Hopper were deep in conversation, both with dark circles under their eyes.

Nobody seemed to notice them, though. Jane probably did, but she didn't say anything. Dustin was about to fucking announce their presence (because the dweeb couldn't do anything quietly) when Max caught him with a hand over his mouth.

She pulled them both to the side of the threshold as they got close enough to hear the Chief's low rumbling and Nancy's concerned whisper.

Eavesdropping. Max had always loved a good spy story.

"... it just doesn't make sense. Chief, he's lying, there's no way that bruise is so old." Nancy was saying "I was talking to Jonathan last night, and we think it's this mystery girl."

"Damnit, this again--"

"No, really. Whoever she is, she knows about the Upside Down now, she has to. She must've been the one to bandage his injuries."

There was a pause where nothing was heard but the clatter of kitchen tools and the sizzle of eggs in a pan.

"Yeah... there's no way he could've done it himself. But, it seems worse-- I've got a bad feeling."

"Are you sure it wasn't just him being stubborn? He's been so tight lipped about this girl--"

"No, you didn't see the kid! He looked so terrified. He was practically sick with it, saying he was 'so sorry' and he 'couldn't tell me'."

"So someone was there. But who, then? Steve must be... it must be something bad, if he's not even trying to lie..."

Mrs. Byers called from further in the kitchen "Jim, d'you have anything in this freezer besides Eggos?"

"I've got a girl I need to bribe with 'em now, Joyce!"

The voices moved further away, and their moment to listen in was passed. Dustin looked at her with wide eyes, and she knew she was looking back at him the same way.

They carefully schooled their expressions-- they didn't have long before somebody saw them awkwardly standing in the hallway-- and backed up a few paces before walking into the kitchen. Max made a much more believable show than Dustin did, pretending to still be sleepy, when really her mind was racing a mile a minute.

"D'you buy those in bulk or something?" she asked in lieu of a "Good morning". Her mom would have given her a look for that, which gave her a little thrill of vindictive glee.

"Morning kids." the Chief grumbled, hiding most of his startled little jump, his arms full of Eggo boxes.

"Good morning." Dustin yawned ridiculously, going to stand by Jane as Mrs. Byers started pulling out plates and setting them on the counter-top. "Where's Steve?"

"He's still in the dining room-- wait, Dustin!" he wouldn't have stopped to listen if Hopper hadn't swung him around to face Joyce again. "Not yet. I'm going to help him change his bandages, and then he'll be all yours during breakfast-- All clear?"

He nodded mechanically, shoulders drooping in disappointment, but Max wasn't paying attention to Dustin anymore. She could see through the open threshold into the dining room from her vantage point, unlike Dustin. And, she saw them.

Both of the boys were nearly dead at the table, Steve especially, who looked tired to the point of zombie status. He was looking at Billy with glazed brown eyes, his mouth a little slack. It could be written off as his exhaustion, if Max didn't want to see anything else.

But her brother was not anywhere near sleep deprived enough to excuse that look on his face.

Billy was whispering to him, and it seemed urgent. He didn't look angry, though, or wrathful, or even jeering. It was rare that Max saw something genuine in that boy's face, but when it happened it was hardly forgettable. Like the fear in his eyes when he'd protected her.

Like the desperation in them now, when he looked at Steve. There was something else there, too. Something she'd never seen before.

It was gentleness, a warmth in his gaze.

Like Nancy looked at Jonathan, like the Chief looked at Mrs. Byers when she couldn't see, like she sometimes hoped that Lucas might be looking at her.

Joyce breezed past her into the dining room and broke her concentration on the two boys she'd thought she knew. The pieces of Hopper and Nancy's puzzles slid into place in her brain with all the other shit she knew. All the sneaking out that her brother had done and weird, out-of-character bullshit Billy had been pulling: apologizing to her and Lucas, letting her pick the music in the car, not coming home until morning that one day not too long ago. He had been so defensive when she'd dared to ask about his friendship with Steve...

It all slammed into her like a damn freight train.

Then, Joyce ushered them both back off to the guest room, and Max was left staring after them. It wasn't until all Hell broke loose during breakfast, with everyone sitting around the table, that she returned to the rest of the world from her thoughts.

Billy swung into the threshold, out of breath, pale, and wild eyed. She'd seen him look scared before, but it had been nothing like this.

"Joyce, help-- I-I don't know what to do--" he was gesturing down the hall, abandoning the starts of sentences like he couldn't find the right words. "I just-- it seemed like the pain was worse, but I didn't think... Jesus Christ, I gotta show you--" he took her hand and nearly yanked her away from where she leaned against the table to talk to Jim. Billy was clumsy and rough in his desperation.

The table erupted with questions and exclamations, mostly from Dustin and Nancy. Hopper said nothing, just immediately moved from the table to head down to the guest room with Billy, tugging Mrs. Byers along.

None of the rest of them even thought for a second before pushing away from their Eggos and eggs and bacon to run after them, but came to a stop in the threshold of the door. Hopper and Joyce were stock still, staring into the room and Max couldn't see anything, none of them could.

They didn't have to in order to know something was terribly wrong.

The two adults, after a long second where Max and the other kids tried to break the wall that they had formed, both seemed to leap into action completely simultaneously. Joyce's feet stumbled over each other as she went further into the room, while the Chief turned on his heel and started ushering all of them back from the door. Dustin, Lucas, and Mike were yelling. Jane was saying something about wanting to help, but Will was the one who asked what everybody feared.

"Is Steve dead?"

"Oh god, no. Christ, Kid-- it's gonna be okay, okay? Go back to the kitchen." He stuttered, telling Nancy and Jonathan the same.

They all protested, but Hopper had left and closed the door behind him before they could get more than a word or two out.

They could hear whispering, retching, crying. Steve screamed. Max thought that she could hear Billy for a second. The tone was so sweet, though-- if she hadn't seen what she'd seen earlier, she would've thought it was impossible for her brother to sound so gentle.

Joyce Byers thought that she had seen all the horror that life could offer, but the world only continued to prove her wrong. Her fingers itched for a cigarette, her heart raced, and every part of her felt frozen. She took in the image of Steve Harrington's back with some sort of numb shock. The poor thing retched into the toilet until there was nothing left in him-- not that there was much, they'd barely gotten him to eat anything since that first night, before the tentative peace since the Gate was shattered-- and trembled on the bathroom floor.

His friend was crouched beside him without a thought to the violent gouges in his back or the tortured noises he made as he aggravated the wounds by throwing up. Billy put a hand over Steve's, where it gripped the bowl.

Steve was crying, and when she looked close she could see that Billy was maybe a little teary eyed, too. If there was one thing to set a mother into action, it was a crying child, no matter their age, and she felt her feet moving toward them without really thinking about it.

She was muttering kind words, going to touch Steve's back in an instinctual move to soothe him, but stopped herself just in time. She settled for stroking his hair, which was sweaty from the fever. Joyce hardly minded, after all her Will had been through, a little fever was nothing she hadn't handled.

Steve sobbed raggedly, and it echoed. Billy finally pulled him back, and Joyce flushed the toilet. Hopper got him a glass of water. He was trembling all over, sniffling and trying to take deep breaths that were cut short by the pain of his torso. Billy was mumbling to him, brushing his hair out of his face, and Joyce busied herself with hot water and a soft rag from under the sink.

Someone had to clean those cuts, and she wasn't letting Billy do it. He had his job, and that was keeping Steve lucid and awake. It seemed like every few minutes he was threatening passing out, and the only thing they really knew here was to NOT let Steve sleep.

Billy struck her as the kind to usually shy away from this, or make a face. From what the boys had told her, there wasn't much good in Billy Hargrove's heart, but she took one look at that shiner and she knew it was a front.

Then, she heard him talking to his sister, just after his dramatic entrance when all this began:

 _"What happened to your face?"_  
  
_"None of your fuckin' business."_  
  
_"Was it him again?"_  
  
_"I said none of your fuckin' business, Bitch--"_

 _"You can talk to Hopper, he's literally the Chief of Police!"_  
  
_"Don't you dare, Max-- if I catch you talkin' to him, I'll--"_  
  
_"You'll what? I know you won't hit me, so don't even try..."_

_There had been a long silence, and Joyce had almost walked away from the kitchen where she'd been listening in to the two siblings._

_When Billy had spoken, it sounded smaller. Rough and a little broken._

_"It doesn't concern you, Maxine, leave it alone."_  
  
"Hey, hey Pretty Boy, look at me-- C'mon, it's not that bad. Quit cryin', we'll get you all fixed up." Now, Billy sounded kinder, less spiky. His black eye was fading, but he looked almost as pale as Steve, making the bruise look darker. There was no heat in his voice as he teased, and it reminded Joyce almost of how Jim looked after people. Billy wasn't the only one who'd been getting softer lately.

Steve was squeezing the life out of Billy's fingers as Joyce tried to clean the grit and grime out of his wounds, biting his lip against the agony that must have been ripping through him. There were whimpers and groans that Billy shushed gently. His whispers were quieter, and she thought she caught something sweeter than the usual nicknames. She ignored it to focus on her task, getting it done quickly so Steve would maybe be in less pain.

Jim was great, running back and forth to get bandages, disinfectant, to check on the kids. It made Joyce feel warm in a way that had been very cold for the long months since...

Well, it wasn't important. Steve Harrington and ensuring that he lived to see his high school graduation was important.

Joyce focused on that.

By the time the three of them had finished disinfecting (not that it made much difference) and wrapping Steve's wounds from shoulders to hips, the teenager had finally started to breathe normally. The tension vibrating through the rest of them lessened just slightly, but Billy hadn't tried to extricate his hand from Steve's grip at all. He still stroked back his hair, and they muttered to each other under their breath.  
  
Steve was responding to him now. Joyce would take the small victories when they came along.  
  
There were a bunch of kids in need of answers for now, and Joyce took Hopper's arm to pull him to the door. This conversation was obviously not for them to hear, and she could respect that.

Jim hovered in the threshold for just a second longer, a pensive frown fixed on his face, before following her lead.

The dining room was thick with anxious tension  Steve could feel eyes on him from all sides as his friends glanced over at him nersvously. Billy-- on his 10th cigarette of the day-- was the only one who kept Steve in his sights constantly, as if he'd disappear. 

Steve cared, somewhere deep down, under the 20,000 leagues of sleepy fog that had a strangle hold on his brain  

"So, what you're saying is..."

"The Mind Flayer has gone into Steve like it went into Will. But instead of using him as a spy, he's attacking Steve from his dreams." Dustin cut off Jonathan, bouncing his leg and trying not to freak out.  
  
"But, what's happening with his back, then?" Mike piped up.

"It's trying to create a new gate from Steve-- the Upside Down is trying to come out of Steve..." Lucas clarified with a shudder. Max took his hand under the table.

"You, kid--" Hopper said, pointing at Billy, who was standing by the doorway, taking long pulls on his cigarette "You said this was like a virus. Why isn't it contagious? You'd think this son of a Bitch would want to infect everyone it could."

"Why're you askin' me?" he smirked at him, but only because he didn't have the energy for a humorless, shit-eating grin. "I just found out about all this shit a few days ago, I'm further in the dark than Smartiepants or Steve's kid..." he gestured at Nancy and Dustin, and Max rolled her eyes at him from her seat.

It got a little huff of a laugh out of Steve, though.

He'd been sitting at the table, silently, next to Dustin, but he might as well have been a million miles away. His eyes were glazed, staring unblinkingly at the tabletop, shivering with fever and eyes weighed down from lack of sleep. His bones were rubber and his blood was some concrete blend of Upside Down ashes.

He wasn't sure how long he had zoned out for. It was comforting, almost. Familiar, at least, to watch his life pass without his input. The dissociation was a devil he knew, and Steve could cope with that better than he could handle the idea of some parasite breaking out of his skin to kill everyone he loved.

Billy calling Dustin "his Kid" brought him momentarily back into his own life, and when he huffed the little chuckle of breath, it made his ribs twinge. He was used to it now.

"Not my kid.." he mumbled, feeling a little drunk.

Billy gave him a sparkling glance that made Steve feel breathless for a split second. He almost got up from his seat, he almost kissed that smirk off the other boy's face. He just about did before he remembered their audience. And his shaky legs.

Maybe he really was like Bambi now.

Hopper was talking again. Steve was too busy staring at Billy and his stupid eyes and his stupid jawbone and his stupid, unbuttoned shirt. He wasn't really paying attention to Hopper, but he caught him saying "I'm asking you cus you had the last brilliant idea, and this whole Virus analogy has a big hole in it."

"It's just not! It's not contagious, or I'd be infected." There was too long of a pause and Steve was instantly on alert: he'd forgotten about Billy's shoulder. When this had first started, Billy had claws in his shoulder. Maybe it was the kissing last night-- how was Billy not feverish? "All of us would be fucking infected!" Billy saved it, and Steve was caught between relief and disappointment. He wished Billy was still holding him. He wished everything was normal again, and that he wasn't going to die, and that his family-- these weird, amazing people-- would accept him for who he was.

He was so fucking tired. Both literally, and tired of hiding.

Billy looked like maybe he was, too. His eyes were hard and angry again, ready to fight. Steve so preferred him the way he had been in the guest room, holding Steve's clammy hands and speaking softly. He was such a vicious bastard when he felt threatened, and Steve wished that he could just spit it all out.

Billy hadn't been infected because he wasn't possessed like Steve.

"It's cus you don't have it in you. Like Steve." Will Byers came to the rescue of the situation, his wide eyes beseeching everyone to listen "The Mind Flayer is stuck inside Steve-- that's the whole point. It can't escape, because it's not strong enough. The longer he goes without sleep, we seem like we're weakening it."

Dustin nodded "Yeah, it feeds on dreams-- by making Steve's nightmares more and more about the Upside Down and intertwining it with his life--"

"It takes more control." Max cut in, and they all looked so excited, like they were making some big break, but Steve didn't even have the energy to listen. His life didn't even feel real.

"Steve, are your dreams about us?"

"Where do they take place?"

They took place in the tunnels, mostly, but had branched out to the woods and his house and school. He thought about the ghost of Dustin with his missing eye, and Billy getting his beautiful face torn to shreds.

"Yeah, they... yeah." he whispered.

They lapsed back into silence for a moment, before Billy cut in with a plume of smoke "Then maybe this fever is Plan B."

"What the Hell does that mean?" Mike snapped.

"It means that this thing is smart. What if we're helping it? We cut off it's control over Steve's brain, so it needs to do something while he's awake. Something more real."

"You think the Mind Flayer is causing the fever." Lucas mused, a little awestruck.

"If a fever gets high enough, you start having hallucinations. We gotta get your fever down, Princess, or this thing might gain some ground."

Nancy was nodding along, putting two and two together like the straight A student she was "Yeah. If Will and Jane could hear the demodogs before, while Steve was just dreaming, who knows what'll happen when Steve starts seeing them while he's awake."

Billy was still working his jaw, looking peeved although he was probably mostly worried. The tension was still in his shoulders when he shook off the shadowed, serious expression, and even through his overheated haze of exhaustion, he didn't fool Steve.

"I'm gonna get you some more coffee, Harrington." Billy cleared his throat, winking at him as he slipped into the kitchen.

Everyone started talking amongst themselves.

Dustin took his hand, and it was so fucking hot in Steve's palm. He closed his fingers around it and gave a humble little squeeze that somehow still took all of his strength.

"Kinda my kid..." he mumbled. Dustin nodded, and he looked so sad. He still smiled at Steve, though. He was trying to reassure.

It only made Steve think about how devastated this boy would be when the Mind Flayer finally fucking killed him. Dustin and the others, Nancy and Jonathan and Joyce. Even Hopper. His people, his family.

Billy.

It was just his luck that he would find the family he'd always wanted just in time to bring evil back to them. Just in time to die a horrible death.

He was still thinking about how Dustin would cry when he died by the time night fell, and he was miraculously still awake.

All day he took to sitting outside on the porch, like the night before. The chill in the air was supposed to help the fever, since ice baths weren't really a possibility (he was covered in almost a full roll of gauze wrappings). Sometimes, the bitter air was too much, and he'd shiver his way back into the warm house for a moment, before the kids chased him back out again.

He was shivering out of his goddamn skin.

People came out in shifts, just like at night, but Dustin was nearly a constant companion. Billy and Joyce kept him in a steady supply of coffee, and Steve would honestly be happy to never see another cup for the rest of his life. But, with the faces and company that came with them, he thought he could handle it for just a little while longer.

As night closed in on the cabin, Hopper came out to sit with him and Dustin. Without any explanation, he dropped a pack of playing cards on the wood in the center of them.

"You oughta be heading to bed, Dustin." the Chief grumbled, but it was mostly for show. Hopper was too smart to think that that would mean a damn thing to Dustin Henderson.

"No, I'd rather know what game you're gonna play."

Steve wasn't sure how much of a game it would be, since he was barely functioning.

"Poker, Rumy, Go Fish-- somethin' to pass the time." he shrugged.

Dustin stayed, and Hopper didn't complain. He dealt three hands for a Poker game that Steve could barely remember how to play. His dad taught him, back when he was a kid and hadn't disappointed the guy enough yet. He didn't properly learn again until Freshman year with Tommy and Carol and a few other people--

"You ever play Poker, Kid?" Hopper broke into his reverie.

"Does Strip Poker count?" he slurred out without thinking.  
  
Hopper stared at him like he was sorry he had asked. Dustin cracked up, but he wasn't the only one.

Billy was walking toward them, holding a fresh mug of something hot. Steve was cold enough that even that foul drink had become something he welcomed. There was a grin on the face of the blonde behind the mug, and that almost made him feel normal for a second before his torso started burning-- Steve had turned fast enough to give himself whiplash, ripping up the delicate amount of healing he'd managed, when he saw something pale and slimy move in the bushes in the yard.

"--ey. Hey, Harrington?" Billy was right next to him now, and he smelled different. There was no cologne, his shampoo was different. He didn't smell like anything but cigarettes and himself. Steve found it a little intoxicating, and would've leaned into it if the other boy hadn't cut him off by unceremoniously shoving a thermometer in his face.

"Ack!" Steve cried, but Billy used the opportunity of the open mouth as the opportunity to get the glass piece under his tongue.

"Shut your damn mouth, Bambi-- can't get a good read."

Eventually, the scowling boy seemed satisfied and took the thermometer out. He blanched, glared at Steve like this was his fault, and once again the urge to kiss the look off his face was near overpowering.

"Am I hot?"

"Yeah, that's not great. But, you've been the same for a solid couple hours. We'll take what we can get." He didn't look like that was something he wanted to do.

"Wanna join?" Steve gestured vaguely to the card game, but didn't even try to look away from those stupid blue eyes while he said it.

Billy didn't look away from him either, as he said "It's a little cold for Strip Poker, isn't it? Besides, I'm helping Joyce clean up. The kids are headed to bed." Steve didn't say anything to that, his brain was moving too sluggishly, but he did become acutely aware of the eyes on him as Billy walked away, saying "Don't forget to drink that, it'll be shit when it's cold."

Steve took a sip before meeting the eyes of Hopper and Dustin over the rim of the mug. Hopper looked pinched, Dustin just confused.

"Did you hit your head or something?" the kid spoke up after a moment that lasted far too long "That is the same guy that beat you till your brain nearly came out your damn ears, y'know."

Steve rolled his eyes, and realized that he had a headache that he'd been too tired to properly notice.

"He's different than you think he is, Bud."

"That kid did what?" the Chief hissed, and Steve had really stepped in the shit now.

"That bastard broke Steve's nose!" Dustin cried.

"Hey! Isn't my forgiveness the important thing here?" Steve felt himself getting angry, then. Patience was a rare thing when you haven't slept in nearly 48 hours and there's a strange creature trying to use you as a doorway between universes. With pursed lips and squinty eyes that he was sure looked more bitchy than intimidating, he changed his gaze over to Hopper. "I can't remember Poker for the fucking life of me."

"Rumy it is."

They played with little to no conversation for about an hour. Steve bit the inside of his cheek against the mounting irritation of Dustin glancing up at him worriedly every few minutes. It was like car rides to school that seemed so long ago. His leg bounced anxiously as he desperately tried to convince himself that whatever oddly shaped shadow he saw wasn't a demogorgen. It wasn't.

It wasn't real.

"How're you holding up, Kiddo?" Hopper grumbled halfway through their shift.

Steve shrugged. He wasn't sure if his voice would work.

"Yeah." Dustin chuckled uncomfortably "Did you know sleep deprivation was used as a torture technique in the Salem Witch Trials?"

No. No, he hadn't. But, he knew he'd say just about anything at this point to be able to go inside and curl up next to Billy on the pull out couch and get a few hours in.

"No, Buddy, but I feel great knowing that I'm a subject of medieval torture..."

"Not medieval. It was the 1600s, but I guess you could say that--"

"KID." Hopper growled. Steve rubbed his forehead. Everything felt so tense, like he was slowly turning to stone. Like he was losing his humanity.

Steve would give anything for this to stop.

The changing of the guards went well enough. Joyce even took him inside. He took his coat off and was only disappointed that he was still shivering, still frozen inside. He knew he had a 103 degree fever. Steve knew he needed to be cold to keep from literally fucking dying.

But, at this point, he was too tired. He was just too fucking tired.

"Hey Sweetie." Joyce greeted, scrubbing a hand through his greasy hair like he wasn't disgusting. Like a mom would. His heart ached and his stomach felt hollow at the thought. He could cry about it right then, without another thought. He'd have to be careful.

"Hi Mrs. Byers." She raised her eyebrows expectantly. The circles under her eyes were deep and Steve was punched with guilt. "Sorry-- Joyce." smiling took too much. Even just standing in front of the coffee maker like they were was a strain on his wobbly, Bambi legs.

"There it is-- I'm sure you're sick of coffee, but I'm afraid that's what I've got." she said, handing him a glass of water and instructing him to sit in the dining room. He had to walk right past Billy to get there. He could see the lump of his body under the sheets in the living room. He could have cried at the sight of him, too.

He liked Joyce more than he had any right to. She wasn't his mom, she wasn't really his friend's mom-- he was her babysitter. He had no right to wish that she was his mother, that he could stake some claim to the caring ways of Joyce Byers. But, it still wasn't fair, and sometimes he just wanted to scream about it. Why wasn't his mom like that? Why didn't his parents want him? He was certain they wouldn't do for him even a fraction of what Joyce did for Will-- for both of her boys.

That shift was mostly quiet as well. She understood that Steve only had so much left in him. She'd ask him questions to keep him awake when his eyelids would start to droop.

They were beginning little things that didn't take a lot of thought, until she finally said something she'd clearly wanted to say all night.

"What happened to your friend, Billy?"

Well, that was a loaded question.

He chuckled humorlessly "That's vague."

She looked appropriately abashed "What happened to that eye? We'll start there."

His heart sank in his chest, and he fumbled for the right words.

"Joyce, I..." not to mention the fact that Billy was probably not as asleep as he looked "That's not my story to tell--"

"I'm worried, I'm just worried." She lit up a cigarette and took a long drag "We were cleaning up the kitchen, and I asked him if he did this with his mom, too, and..." she sighed, looking a little teary. Steve was instantly on edge-- Billy wouldn't hurt Joyce, right? He wouldn't dare, he'd changed so much "He just shut down. I didn't mean to hurt him... He just muttered something about not having a mom. He walked away for a smoke."

Relief loosened Steve's chest, and he sighed (cut short by a stabbing pain in his back).

"He's got a complicated past. I don't know much of it." his eyelids were drooping. Everything was spinning slowly, just enough to keep him off balance.

"And how did you two become friends?"

"He beat my face in." he said blandly, and now he couldn't stop glancing over in the corner-- the threshold to the living room.

Where there were four demodogs approaching the pull out from all sides, zeroing in on Billy.

It wasn't real.

It wasn't real.

It was NOT real.

"Steve? Honey, what do you see? What's not real?"

They were circling the bed.

Like when he'd been circled by demodogs at that old school bus.

Wait.

It was just a memory. The Mind Flayer had spliced a memory of Steve's minimal knowledge of the Upside Down and laid it into reality. It couldn't be real. None of it was real.

Billy was safe.

He couldn't trust it, though.

Leaving Joyce sitting at the table, trying to follow his line of sight, Steve stumbled out of his chair and into the living room.

When he reached the bed, the demodogs were gone.

"Sweetheart, what're you doin'?" he heard Billy's rough, half-asleep mumble. It made him feel warm.

"I- I thought--"

Joyce was in the doorway now, and Billy was completely awake. Steve was distantly embarrassed. Once again, it was like his life wasn't his, he was too exhausted to live it.

"You seein' things?"

"Steve, what did you see?" Joyce had a hand on the back of his neck, grounding like Billy was grounding, and he needed it. He needed something to keep him fucking sane.  
  
"I saw-- there were demodogs, they're everywhere, they--"

Bily was out of bed, then, and took Steve by the elbows so gently Steve whimpered. It was ragged and pathetic and he didn't even try to hold it in. Billy looked so sad, and his eyes burned with tears and fever and in protest of not sleeping for so long.

"Joyce, I'm gonna take the rest of this shift." Billy's tone brooked no argument, but Joyce started to shake her head.

"Billy, I--"

"Please, Joyce. Get some rest, okay?"

Steve whimpered again, and that seemed to seal the deal. Steve felt her chapped lips brush his burning forehead-- she did the same to Billy before he could even think to protest, and then she was gone.

Billy looked like he might cry, and Steve gave an incremental squeeze of his hand, bringing him back to reality.

They didn't go back to the dining room. Instead, they ended up on the kitchen floor with their backs to the cabinets under the sink. Steve felt somewhat safer there, and the other boy didn't even question that shit. They both had tall glasses of water while another pot of the endless river of coffee started to brew.

There were menacing, flower-shaped shadows in the distance, through the windows, in the dark corners of the house. Steve wanted to turn on every TV and every radio, like he did at home. He wanted to turn on every light, like he did at home.

He almost fucking missed home. Almost. 

The tears were rolling down his face before he even knew they were there to stop them. Billy had lit a cigarette, and just stayed with him, a steady presence, holding his hand.

"Distract me." he finally said. "Please, Billy. Distract me."

There was a silence punctuated by the sizzling of a long pull on that cigarette "I heard you and Joyce. I....I never told you about my mom?"

He shook his head, focusing on the blue of the blonde's eyes rather than the encroaching terror of his fever dreams.

"Well, I look just like her." he looked away from Steve, then. He wished he'd come back. He felt cold when he looked away.

"Must be a real pretty lady." Steve gave an exaggerated wink, and Billy puffed out some smoke with his wet laugh when he looked.   
  
"She was somethin'. My dad can barely look at me without being mad at her all over again. Which is why there's--" he gestured with his free hand at his black eye "My mom was sick in the head. There was something wrong with her. Things weren't great. She was either up for anything, happy, laughing, or fuckin'... just raging mad. She my dad could spit fire at each other for goddamn hours. And then there were times where I wouldn't see her for days. Once, it went on for three whole weeks. She didn't come out of... Well, she'd sit in the nursery that was supposed to be my sister's." he cleared his throat and sipped his water. His voice was rough again, but not with sleep. "My mom blew her brains out when I was fourteen. Dad married Susan by my fifteenth fucking birthday. That fucker..."

It was quiet for a long time, then. Steve just listened, and it was a Hell of a distraction, that was for sure.

He pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Billy's mouth. He didn't comment on the salt of it.

"My mom threw a wine bottle at my head." Steve barely had the nerve to say it at all, but he managed to whisper it, like the demogorgen in the corner of the dining room could hear them. "When I was ten. She hates me-- she told me that children were "just a complication of divorce" and that we needed to "be above all those other, weaker families". My dad is too busy hating everyone else to even remember I'm there half the time."

"They don't hit you, do they?" Billy whispered back.

Steve just shook his head "No-- but you know where to come when yours does..." even if this thing killed him, Billy would get a key. He'd have Dustin make him a copy of his house key, so he'd have somewhere to go. Steve promised himself.

They were silent again. Billy never replied to Steve's statement.

"I'm sorry, Steve."

Wait what? Did he miss something? Did he fall asleep?

"What?"

"For beating the shit out of you at the Byers's." he said again, low and kind. "Don't make me say it again, Asshole."

"No, no, I... Thanks." he said dumbly. He wouldn't have been any more articulate if he'd had a full 8 hours of rest. "Billy, I...." he thought long and hard, his brain foggy and shadowed. "I give a shit about you. I really fuckin' do, Jesus Christ--"

Billy was never one for many words, and Steve supposed that he wasn't really, either. So, the kiss was something that he should've seen coming. It was so soft, so kind in a way that he never would've thought could come from Billy fucking Hargrove.

They both might've been crying. They both might have been trembling. But, neither of them particularly cared, huddled on the kitchen floor with their arms around each other.

"Hey-- oh whoa, sorry guys."

Jonathan was standing, wide eyed in the fucking doorway.


	9. Out of Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the wait! But, I hope everyone had a great holiday-- I even got you a present!
> 
> Before we get into this, I need you guys to know that I really like Nancy Wheeler, and I'm not hating on her in this story. It's just through Billy's perspective. And he hates Nancy. 
> 
> This chapter is intense from start to finish, and I'm sorry. It's gonna get WORSE.
> 
> Comment if you like me torturing you!

The three boys just looked at each other in silence, and Steve hoped beyond fucking hope that this was some kind of hallucination. Billy had gone so pale, tense and stock still. Jonathan seemed to notice this, raising his hands in surrender and making himself as non-threatening as possible. 

Being in Billy Hargrove's sights like that, while he was feeling cornered and exposed, was never a good thing.

"What the fuck are you doing down here?" he hissed out the words. It was like a panicked scream, a defensive growl, whispered into the room.

The faster Steve's heart sped (which, between the coffee, the trembling that he just couldn't stop, and the rising, demogorgen shaped apparitions, it was fucking hammering out of his chest), the more shadows there seemed to be. There were demodogs practically growing out of the kitchen floor around them. Steve really didn't need anything else to be scared of right now.

And yet, Jonathan might hate him now. And, he could tell everyone. They would all leave him. Like his stupid parents, like Nancy, even Dustin would be disgusted--

And then there was also Billy. Who he couldn't give up if he tried, who he might even love... And who might actually try to kill Jonathan Byers in the next five minutes.

"I-I was looking for my mom, I thought she was on shift now.."

"Well, she's not, is she?" Billy was growling, and Steve wanted to say something to diffuse the situation, but he still didn't have a voice. The fear had frozen the air in his lungs, and he was trembling all over. Billy, despite the bone-deep rage that seemed to come out with just about every emotion he had, was still gripping his hand. But, if them getting found out wasn't what the blonde was afraid of, then... "How long have you been fuckin' watching us, Perv?"

Oh.

Steve's foggy brain took a second to process that nobody knew about Billy's mom but him. Probably, at least. A surge of warmth lifted his chest, and he was suddenly protective. Of Billy, of Jonathan, or both, he wasn't sure, but it was enough to get him to speak.

"Billy, it's okay..." it still didn't feel like it was okay, but Steve tried. "Jonathan's okay, he-he won't--"

"I really just walked in, honest!" Jonathan went on "Look, I won't tell anybody. It's not like I didn't see any of this coming, y'know?"

"Wait what?" Billy let go of him, then, on his feet in a split second and leaving Steve cold. He was advancing on Jonathan, and Steve was so dazed and confused, his blood pounding in his ears.

"B-Billy, come back, s-stop it.." his mouth fumbled around the words, and he forced his weary body up to standing.

That only made stars pop in his vision, the walls drawing in closer to him. Everything was shadowy and hostile, Billy's violent energy filling the whole fucking house--

He heard Jonathan say something, fast and urgent, and before Steve could figure out what he was falling forward, there were strong arms wrapping around him. A spike of burning pain ignited his entire torso and he screamed a little behind his teeth. Tremors were rattling his bones, but hey, it had woken him up.

Billy's familiar voice rumbled into his ears and his vision started to return to him. "Hey, hey there-- you with me? C'mon, Asshole. You're not allowed to die, remember?" the tone was angrier and colder than it usually would be. Steve knew that if they didn't have an audience, Billy would sound much gentler. Like, when this all first started, and Billy fucking Hargrove was shaking him awake, covered in his blood and trying to keep him calm.

He missed that side of him every time he went away for even a second. One day, he hoped Billy would understand that he was allowed to be vulnerable. He was allowed to be human-- there were some people in this world who wouldn't hurt him.

Steve hoped he survived this bullshit, if only to be able to tell that to the other boy himself.

There was another set of hands, then, briefly on his cheek, so soft that Steve whimpered just a little. They were gone, though, when Billy growled again, tugging him away with just enough care to not jostle his injuries.

"If you're gonna fucking hang around, make yourself useful." Steve's eyes drooped closed, and it had been so long that they stung with the movement, like he had eyes full of shampoo or sand or something. "Hey, Hey-- none o'that. Let's get you sitting down, Bambi. Can't even stand up..."

Jonathan said something about coffee, and Steve's stomach churned unpleasantly.

He never wanted to even smell goddamn coffee, ever again.

He must have made some kind of sound, because Billy made a little sound back as he walked him (nearly carried him) into the dining room. It was sweeter than before, so Jonathan must still be in the kitchen.

"Quit your whining, Bambi, we're trying to help you here." He had him sitting down in the chair, and the shadows were all demogorgens now. Some of them weren't, though, and Steve felt like he was on acid or something as he looked around. Some of them were demogorgen heads, all faceless and full of fanged petals, but had human bodies. Some demogorgens had human heads.

Some were just people. Twisted, decaying people.

His dad, all slimy and leaking some kind of fluid from his skull, was staring at him from the threshold to the living room. His eyes were unblinking and glazed with some milky film. His mom was sitting at the table. One of her ears was missing, replaced by a dark smear of blood and dirt. Both her eyes were feverish and bright, just like his, with no film over them. Steve wished there was as her gaze burned into him.

"You still in there?" Billy whistled, and his tone was just the slightest bit meaner again. That felt like a kick in the chest, but at least his mom wasn't there anymore.

The acrid stench of coffee under his nose made him whimper, and he didn't even care anymore. He didn't care about anything. He didn't care that Jonathan knew about him and Billy, he didn't care if anyone else found out, he didn't care if Billy was mean to him because Jonathan was there. He didn't even care that the dream of Dustin that he'd had was peeking it's head into the room from around his dad's half-demogorgen corpse.

Jonathan was giving him a deeply emotional stare from across the table, and Steve didn't have the energy to decipher it. It was probably simpler than he thought it was.

"So, can I-- can I ask about this?" he stuttered, sipping his own cup of coffee.

Steve felt Billy's hand slip around his own again, right on top of the table. Like a normal couple. He would've blushed if he felt like he had enough blood in his body. The point of contact was blisteringly warm, but at least it wasn't cold like the rest of him.

"Me first." Billy ground out "What do you mean that you already knew?"

"Oh" it might have been a hallucination that Jonathan was blushing, but he definitely looked down into his coffee cup and shrugged. "I just... I'm a photographer, y'know? I look for the things people don't say out loud. To be honest, I knew pretty much as soon as you broke down the front door. You say a lot that you don't even realize you're saying."

They were quiet for a long moment, and Steve's dad was grinning like a fucking beast, more of the same sludge from his skull oozing out from between half-rotten teeth. He tried to ignore him.

"And do you... I'm not going to say I'm sorry, Jonathan. I don't think there's anything wrong with..." loving someone. It was on the tip of his tongue. It almost slipped out, filling him with a strange mix of warmth that he hadn't felt since Nancy, and a cold dread that he couldn't explain.

"What?" he scrunched up his brow in confusion for a second and then he seemed to realize what Steve was talking about. "Oh my god, Steve-- I don't care. Shit, I'm happy for you. As long as you two are good to each other," there might have been a pointed look at Billy there, but Steve might have imagined it "then I'll be standing by you. I mean, have you met my brother? I'm not insinuating anything, but I adjusted to this possibility a long time ago..."

Billy's grip on his hand got tighter, and there was this ballooning feeling in his chest like he could fly away. He didn't know he was crying until the blonde moved his hand to his cheek and thumbed away a big tear. Steve would've been embarrassed if he had the emotional capacity, but he was so overwhelmed.

The gentle hand on his cheek became the inside of a wrist delicately pressed to his forehead. Billy frowned, his own shock and disbelief fading into something stormy.

"I'm gonna grab the thermometer." Steve barely resisted the urge to beg him to stay as he walked away to the bathroom-- shadows were closing in around the door as Billy disappeared from sight, throwing over his shoulder "No funny business, Byers".

They both scoffed, looking at each other and managing to smile. Steve hoped his looked as genuine as Jonathan's felt.

It took maybe five whole seconds for the other boy come back, nervously tapping the little glass thermometer against his palm before extending it to Steve.

They sat in awkward silence as the mercury rose, and Jonathan finally cleared his throat and said:

"So, how long has this thing been going on?"

"None of your damn business." Billy snapped, with less heat than before, but he was glaring at the other boy. Steve didn't need to look over at him to know. He slipped the thermometer out of his mouth and huffed out a long sigh. "You're higher than before." he grumbled. He had pushed a hand into his hair, and Steve nearly purred at the contact. His head fucking hurt. Billy was looking at him with naked concern, his blue eyes boring into him. His own eyes were starting to droop closed again. "Steve, drink your coffee, c'mon." he coaxed him, and that was a little nicer, more like his tone when they were alone. That was enough to get a sip of the bitter liquid down his throat, but Steve barely refrained from gagging.

"Billy, he can ask. It's not like he doesn't already know." he felt like he had cotton balls in his mouth, but the words sounded okay. He turned to Jonathan and didn't think about the demodogs just behind him. "What do you wanna know?"

"How long?"

"Maybe two months."

Billy huffed. "Seven weeks. Feels like years with all this Upside Down bullshit."

Nancy was sitting at the table when Steve blinked, looking wobbly, wearing her halloween costume from Tina's stupid party. "It's bullshit" she slurred, and a slug, like the one from Dustin's eye, slipped out of her pretty mouth with a dull slapping sound as it hit the table.

He blinked and she was gone.

"Steve?"

Billy had a hand on his cheek, forcing him to look his way.

"Huh?"

"You still seeing things?" Billy stroked his hair off his sweaty forehead and Steve whined quietly. It felt so nice, it was almost too much.

He just nodded, his head throbbing with the motion and making his breath catch. His eyes watered.

"What kind of things do you see?" Jonathan asked then, and it was a pretty out of the blue question.

"C'mon, Byers. Don't be an asshole, he's fucking terrified." Billy retorted.

"No-- the kids were talking earlier. El had an idea, and it might help to know."

A flutter of hope landed in Steve's chest and he focused on Jonathan, instead of the mangled body of what looked like Lucas in the corner of the room.

"They actually have a plan?"

"It's... It's dangerous. They're bringing it up at breakfast. At least, that's the plan. They were trying to think of a safer way, it didn't even seen like a possibility at first--"

"Byers" Billy cut in, looking exasperated to cover his fear. "What the Hell is it?"

"Um, well. The Mind Flayer, or whatever it is, it's coming through your dreams, right? Then it has to be rooted in your memories. Will said that at first his nightmares about the Upside Down were just memories-- once they started being new things, he knew there was something wrong. Something had changed." He swallowed hard, seeming to realize that he had the other two boys' absolute attention. "The point is that if this thing is inside you, that El is going to have to go in there and kill it from inside your mind."

"So what's the dangerous part?" Steve forced himself to say, not wanting to know the answer.

"You need to close your eyes. The problem is getting her in there with you without you falling asleep. If you do, she'll most likely get trapped in the Upside Down, you'll die, and the demogorgens that have been shredding you in your dreams become tangible. The Upside Down will be back."

What little hope Steve had had immediately snuffed itself out.

There was no way. No way that he would put Jane in danger like that, and especially not with such a high possibility of his friends getting ambushed by demodogs. They would all die if this went wrong.

Steve's life was a small price to pay if it kept them safe.

The sun rose that morning and with all the swarming feelings in his gut, it made Billy miss home. It had been so simple-- no feelings, no Steve Harrington.. The only thing to be afraid of was Neil.

California was no picnic. But it wasn't like Hawkins, Indiana, where the Earth was trying to open up and monsters were possessing perfectly innocent people. People who deserved so much better... At least in California he had had the beach. Mom had loved the beach. The sun was always so bright there. It was always warm and yellow, never this watery, gray bullshit. What he wouldn't give for just one more San Diego sunrise, maybe with someone by his side.

He wanted Steve to come home with him.

He needed Steve Harrington to live.

He looked like shit. His big brown eyes were glassy and bright, a little bloodshot from almost 72 hours of coffee and fever. Billy wanted to wrap him up close and hold him there, like after that first nightmare, when everything started falling into place. Back before he knew how fucking much he would end up caring about this stupid asshole.

It wasn't like he had ever deserved the likes of Steve Harrington-- the way he kissed him so gently after a fight with his dad, how he always gave Billy somewhere to go when he couldn't go home, how he'd hold his hands and squeeze them in his while they fucked, even when it was rough and fast. Especially when it was slow and methodical. Loving.

He'd never had someone that he needed so much that he'd bite into their neck and suck such dark marks to prove they were taken, even when no one could know it was him.

And, so much for that, since Byers couldn't mind his own fucking business. He was relieved, though. He hadn't really known just how badly that he wanted people to know until suddenly someone did. He didn't hit them, or threaten them, either. That was another thing to make him miss home. He didn't think there was anyone out here in this stupid town that was that kind.

He might love Steve Harrington. There was a pull in his gut, unfamiliar and warm, when he looked at that Asshole. He'd never loved anyone before.

He had never given a shit about someone as wholeheartedly as now, even while Steve was delirious, sickly, and gray.

It was stupid. Billy had never felt so helpless and fucking stupid, and now he was in so deep that he could never come out. Steve's survival had become Billy's survival, too.

He stopped force feeding him coffee, for the most part, instead opting to pump him full of ice water. They had to combat this fever, or shit was gonna get really hairy.

He wished Joyce was here.

He didn't need to wait long. He almost forgot to let go of Steve's clammy, gross hand as people started to filter into the kitchen and dining room, and ignored the sad, heart-wrenching little noise that Harrington made when he pulled way and put both hands around his own mug of coffee.

"Drink that, Sweetheart-- gotta get that fever down." he muttered in the general direction of Steve's water in the last blissful seconds of just him, Steve, and Byers. He was good enough to look away when Billy pressed a little kiss to Steve's sweaty temple on nothing but impulse.

A few of the kids came in first. They were looking tired, yawning and bleary eyed.

Fuck that-- Billy was suddenly swept up in anger again. How dare they yawn in front of Steve as if they were the ones who'd had a hard fucking night? How fucking dare they--

He sipped his coffee.

He felt so whipped. He was such a bitch-- that was what his dad would say. He was such a little bitch, swallowing that anger, breathing it out for the sake of getting along. These kids needed to learn some fucking respect, yawning like that--

But, he had a little Steve Harrington on his shoulder. A little parcel of rational thinking and a desire to keep himself in check. Billy loved to fight-- but these kids had actually done nothing.

Billy didn't want to turn into his dad. He definitely didn't want to turn into his mom. Those times when he felt himself losing control were the times that he was the most scared. For himself and of himself.

"Morning Boys." Joyce came in, a cigarette hanging out of her mouth. Billy's fingers suddenly itched for his own pack of smokes, sitting in his jacket. It had been fucking hours since he'd had a smoke.

The idea of leaving Steve's side was somehow worse than the urge. He managed a tight smile at the woman, and she also looked tired. Everyone was effectively exhausted, gathering around the table with grumbled greetings and shuffling feet. Billy rolled his eyes.

Everything was silent for a long few moments, and the kids clearly had their stupid plan and clearly wanted to fucking say it, but a heavy cloud of tense quiet remained.

He was about to snap, to tell Max or one of the other brats to spit it out-- she was looking at him with these wide eyes, staring at him like she knew he had a secret-- when Joyce finally said:

"Steve?"

Steve wasn't looking at anyone or anything. He was staring, unblinking, into the distance like he was seeing ghosts, and Billy had a sinking feeling that he probably was. He should get another glass of water for him, maybe some coffee.

Billy whistled obnoxiously, snapping in front of Harrington's face to get his attention. He reveled in the dirty look that the Wheeler girl shot his way across the table.

"Joyce's talkin' to you, Princess." he put a little roughness back into his voice, but Jonathan's knowing gaze nearly made him blush. Which couldn't happen. So, he got up, muttering about making more coffee.

Billy practically ran from the room.

He could make out the conversation in the other room pretty clearly, and kept his ears pricked for Steve's barely whispered replies.

But, they were clear as a bell. And chilled Billy right to his core.

"Honey, Jim and I were thinking.. Max has been keeping up with her mom for her and Billy, the other kids, their parents know where they are." Joyce paused, maybe clearing her throat, or sipping her coffee, Billy couldn't be sure. "Do your mom and dad know you're here? I... You really should give them a call, so they don't worry."

He was expecting a quietly mumbled lie or something.

Definitely not a ringing, bitter, humorless laugh.

"Steve?" That was Hopper, oh shit, Steve would never be saying this if he was in a fucking SANE frame of mind. Especially not to the Chief of Police.

With perfect timing, the coffee was ready. Billy rushed out with a mug, nearly slamming it down in front of the delirious Steve.

"Drink that, dumbass-- you're about to pass out."

"If I drink one more cup of fucking coffee, I'm gonna have an actual heart attack... So, yeah. Sure, Tough Guy."

"Shut up." He sat back down. He said it with more vitriol than he had intended, but his heart was racing. Everyone was looking at them with more intent than before, and Billy had probably actually made things worse. Fuck.

He wasn't surprised.

"Steve-- who should we call, Honey?" Joyce said, looking confusedly between Billy and the other boy. The Chief's eyes were burning into the side of his head, but Billy refused to look at him. God fucking damnit, he needed a cigarette.

"Nobody." Steve spat out like venom. Billy closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose against the headache pounding at the back of his skull. "My parents don't give a shit, Joyce." He wouldn't have wanted anyone to know if he was in Steve's position. Steve had gone to such lengths to keep Billy from asking too many questions. There was no way he would be saying this if he had control over himself. "I haven't seen them in 6 months-- won't be back till after graduation."

Shit. He hadn't known that.

He rubbed a hand down his face and accidentally hit the last of the fading bruise under his eye.

At least Steve's parents didn't hit him. Billy was almost jealous-- he'd give just about anything for his dad to ignore him.

Hopper was still staring. Actually, everyone was staring, right at them. Steve was looking into his coffee as if it was the most interesting thing in the world, and Billy was just pissed right off.

You could hear a pin drop in the cabin.

"Hey kid--" Hopper got up, putting one of his big hands on back of Steve's neck. Billy didn't know why, really, that he flinched when the other hand rested on the back of his chair. The twinge of fear, the instinct to brace himself came on without him really having control of the movement "Let's go for a walk, huh? You and me are gonna get some air..."

Billy almost got up to join them. He couldn't fathom the idea of Steve being out of his sight, it hurt somewhere deep in his chest.

But, he stayed, sitting at the table with all the focus on him, until they were both gone and the door closed behind them. It was pretty warm outside, compared to the past few weeks, but with that fever, Steve was gonna be freezing. Billy tried not to think about it.

"You knew?" Now was not the best time for Nancy Wheeler to open her goddamn mouth.

"You didn't?" he deadpanned back at her, fixing her with the coldest look he could manage "Which one of us dated him for a year? You're honestly fucking saying that you had no clue?"

She fought for the words, and he took such bitter satisfaction from her discomfort. He wasn't being fair to her, maybe, but he also didn't care.

"He-- he usually didn't talk about it, he just said... He usually came over to my house."

"Yeah, there's a reason for that. Aren't you supposed to be smart?"

He didn't wait for a reply, he wasn't expecting one. He dug out his cigs from his coat pocket and went out for a smoke, slamming the door behind him.

Hopper looked straight ahead. The boy next to him was silent, looking at his feet as he plodded along. He hadn't considered any of the hallucinations, and his heart ached for the kid. He took a long pull on his cigarette, and thought about turning around and having this conversation somewhere else, but then Steve finally spoke.

"If you, um, if you go this way for a while longer, you can get to my house." he whispered.

"Really?" that was a genuine surprise, even though he definitely sounded a little pandering.

"Yup." he popped the p, sounding disinterested. "I didn't figure it out for a while. But, I used to walk in the woods behind my house every once and a while. After the first time the demogorgen came and went." he was still looking down at his sneakers "It helped me to go out and see that there was nothing out there. I stumbled out this far once, but I never went closer. Someone clearly lived there." Then he finally looked up at him. God, he looked terrible. He was trembling something awful, his eyes were glazed and bloodshot, his hair was greasy.

The sentences seemed to exhaust him, and his shoulders deflated with the effort of breathing.

"C'mon, lets have a seat... You're gonna fall right over."

He guided him over to a fallen log, careful not to touch his back.

Steve huffed a little laugh, smirking "You sound like Billy."

Billy. Jim felt like he swallowed a lemon as he thought about the boy. About both of them. Something was off about them-- they were too close for two boys would had been beating the shit out of each other such a short time ago.

He wanted to say that he didn't care about whatever those kids were to each other. He wouldn't condone it, but he could say he didn't care. But, then he'd be lying.

So, he said nothing at all about it.

There were more pressing matters-- like Steve's apparently neglectful parents, and Billy flinching away from him when he wasn't even going to touch him. He'd seen it a hundred times, and he knew a little more about that shiner now.

It was his job to protect these kids, no matter who they were. So, that was what he'd focus on.

"So... You know where your folks are?" he started, tentative.

He expected Steve to tense up, but if anything, he deflated even more "No. On "business" or something. My mom just goes places, sometimes with my dad, sometimes to get away from me." he shrugged, but whimpered against the pain when he jostled his injuries. They'd have to redress that mess when they got back to the cabin. Jim just nodded.

"D'you remember the first time it happened?"

Steve just shook his head, barely imperceptible, and he brought a shaky hand up to his head.

"So, it's always been this way..."

"I didn't even really know how much they hated me until I met Mrs. Byers... You guys are so fucking nice to me, makes me feel like I'm gonna explode, it's almost too- too much."

Jim took a long, deep inhale on his cigarette, finishing it and rubbing it out in the leaf litter. Joyce would be devastated to know all this, she'd be heartbroken for poor Steve Harrington. And then she'd bring him into her family like it was meant to be that way-- like she did with Will's llittle group of nerds, Jane and Nancy, even Billy Hargrove and Jim himself... Joyce Byers was selfless and kind. She wasn't perfect, but she was a perfect mother.

After all she'd done for her boy when Will had disappeared and how hard she worked to get the Mind Flayer out of him, of course Steve had seen a true parent. Of course he realized the differences between his own absent parents, and Joyce Byers--

A thought hit him with the force of a speeding train, and Jim looked over at Steve Harrington-- weepy, exhausted, forgotten by the people that should matter the most-- and he figured the whole fucking thing out.

We gotta get back, Kid. C'mon, I think I've got something."

Why had the Mind Flayer chosen Steve fucking Harrington?

There were better candidates. Jane, Will, even Mike Wheeler would have done the trick. It needs a host that's healthy, but easily manipulated. Someone who could disappear and it would be blamed on something like a runaway or a kidnapping. So, it had chosen children.

But, if Hargrove was right, then the thing had changed tactics. It went for someone older, a little stronger physically, even easier to forget. Steve had no family.

The Mind Flayer was banking on the idea that Steve wouldn't even be reported missing until he was dead. That he would slowly fall apart with no one to turn to. It made one mistake, though, keeping it in the group of them that had continually fought it-- maybe it couldn't resist the vengeance. Steve was the one who lit up the hub of the tunnel system.

Or, maybe it had dispersed out of Will Byers and part of it found its way to Steve Harrington's house.

Jim wasn't sure, but he was sure enough. And he was damn determined to save this fucking kid.

He practically dragged Steve back to the house and in the door, past the blonde kid, smoking on the porch step. He stood when he saw them coming, immediately concerned.

Billy put out his third cigarette, stomping it into the wood of the step as he followed the two others into the house. His heart pounded, and there was a dark pit of dread in his stomach, chewing away at him.

Steve looked even worse than before, ghostly fucking pale and shaking like a leaf. Billy went right for him, taking him by the bicep and spinning him around to face him.

"Steve, what's goin' on?"

Steve just shook his head, eyes wide. He was still stupidly beautiful and Billy bit at the inside of his mouth to focus because now was not the time.

The chief and his curly little daughter started talking at nearly the same time.

He recognized the kids plan, but not what Hopper was saying, but he couldn't focus. Not with Steve right there, shaking his head next to him, holding his head like his skull might split apart. His face was twisted, and there were tears on his cheeks.

Billy started whispering to him, just stupid stuff, the first things that came to mind.

"Hey, hey, Sweetheart. It's okay, you're gonna be fine-- Look at me and tell me what hurts, Steve." he cleared his throat and pried the other boy's fingers away from his head, replacing them with his own. His grip was much more tender, and he didn't dare do anything harder. Everyone was arguing in the background, about the plan and Hopper yelling about the dangers of it. It was so hectic, Billy thought no one was listening.

"Why's no one actually paying attention to Steve, here!?" That Dustin kid finally shouted, but Billy didn't bother moving from where he was trying to calm the other boy.

Steve had buried his face in the crook of Billy's shoulder, whimpering and saying something not quite coherent, and Billy had one hand massaging the back of his neck, and one resting on his hip. He could feel the eyes on them. Joyce was right there, now, Dustin and Jane, too.

"...everywhere, it's everywhere, m-make it st-stop, I..." Steve was more legible. Dustin was trying to talk to him, trying to talk about the plan, about him getting better, but Steve didn't seem to see any of them properly as he pulled away from Billy to look around the room.

"Get who away?"

Steve suddenly jumped away from him-- away from all of them, stumbling backward toward the door. His back almost collided with the wood as his gaze shot around to all of them. They always came back to Billy, but he looked crazed, lost, and Steve was seeing, but he wasn't looking at them.

"STEVE." Dustin started, talking like he was deaf, not hallucinating, and Billy fought rolling his eyes when her noticed that the kid was crying. He was just scared.

"Hey kid-- get them all to shut up, okay?" He told Dustin, nudging him around to look at him. He half expected him to say no, to hit him or scowl at him or something. But he listened.

"HEY. Everybody SHUT UP. You're scaring him, SHUT UP."

It worked. The kid had quite the yell, and Billy finally felt like he could hear himself think again. Cautiously, like he was approaching a wounded animal, he stepped closer to Steve, into his line of sight.

"Steve? Steve, what d'you see?" he reached out, trying to take his hand, but for the first time in a long time, Steve pulled away, hunching in on himself and whimpering pitifully.

"C'mon, Sweetheart-- whatever it is, it's not real." He repeated it over and over until he was right in front of him, barely a foot away from Steve's terrified face.

"It's you..." he finally whispered "You're not r-real. You're right h-here but... but you're body's also over, over there, and you're over there, t-too, and--"

Billy could feel his heart shattering into a million pieces. He was scared, he was scaring Steve, and he didn't know what the Hell to do. He wanted to cry, and rage. He wanted his mom.

"They're not real, Sweetheart, you're not hearin' me. I'm real, those other ones aren't... I'm right here, you know me, Steve." he didn't know if he was begging him or if he was actually trying to calm him, but he was shaking just as bad as Steve was. He was shaking his head again, looking dizzy and broken.

"No, no, but--"

"You need me t'prove it? What can I do? What can I do, huh?" he inched himself closer, knowing something that might help, and he was so fucking desperate. He didn't know what he'd do if it didn't work. "Hey" he whispered, putting a hand on Steve's cheek, wet with tears and clammy sweat, and held his gaze as he went in and pressed their lips together.

It was so soft. He was more gentle than he'd ever been with Steve right then, holding his face and running his thumb across his cheekbone. The other boy responded like Billy was the last sip of water in a desert, kissing him desperately, his hands both fisting tightly in his shirt.

He hated to pull away-- it hurt more than just about anything he'd ever done, but Billy had to. He whimpered against his lips when Billy started to pull back, holding him tighter.

"Please, don'.."

Billy shushed him, pretending he couldn't feel the eyes burning into them as he looked at the other boy. Something felt so horribly final about it, and he said without thinking "Not allowed to die, Harrington.."

Usually Steve would laugh, or at least try. Instead, one fat tear slipped down from his big brown eye and he shook his head again "Billy, I.. that's out of my control."

He saw it coming, like Steve Harrington was collapsing in slow motion. Billy caught him with an arm around his burning hot back and under the backs of his knees.

Then there was a horrible noise from outside.

"Was that--" Dustin choked out.

"A demogorgen." Will and Jane both finished.

It was here.


	10. The Memories that Make You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, yeah, this chapter is late. I'm sorry, but i hope it makes it up to you that it's SUPER LONG!!! And things are finally getting better for our boys now, everything is gonna be okay!
> 
> This chapter is really nasty, part of it was so gruesome that I had trouble getting through writing it-- but it's there, and it's hard to read. Brace Yo'self. 
> 
> As always, write me a comment if you liked it! Let's celebrate a New Year with a safe Steve!

Things happened in slow motion-- Billy felt like he'd been ripped from the room, as if he was watching, deaf and dumb, as calamity gripped the cabin. Steve's kid was tugging at him, trying to get a good look at the unconscious brunette. He was crying.

Everyone was moving and Billy couldn't keep track. He didn't really care.

Steve was dead weight in his arms, and Billy's heart started hammering. He could be dead. He could die, Billy could lose him. Maybe he already had. He had never really thought about it: How would it be to lose Steve Harrington? He had hardly thought that he would react with the hot tears clouding his vision, or the vibration of terrified energy under his skin. The familiar rage reared its head as if it had any place there, and Billy wanted to punch, to scream, to sob and feel the crack of bone and flesh.

But, he couldn't drop the body in his arms. Steve was still there, holding Billy back from his anger.

A big hand grabbed his shoulder and he jerked back into the panicked reality of the Chief's living room. His first instinct was to fight, and he pulled away from the rough touch as if he was bracing for attack. Like home.

He looked over to see the Chief, not his dad, and something in his chest relaxed only minutely as he saw the man's impassive face.

"C'mon, kid." he ushered him on.

It was only then that Billy heard the little Wheeler boy shouting "Get to the guest room! Away from the door!"

He managed to put one foot in front of the other all the way into the room. Everyone was gathering there-- boarding the window, drawing the curtains, turning on the lamp to fill the darkness with a warm yellow light. Joyce had turned back the covers of the bed, looking pinched and tight with stress. She still gave him what she could of a tiny smile, meant to comfort as he laid Steve on the covers. Billy, though, couldn't bring himself to move too far from Steve's side, and found himself sitting on the edge of the mattress. There was another screeching noise outside, followed by the front door slamming. Everyone looked around-- was it already here? Billy had closed the door, he had fucking slammed it. There was no way...

The knob of the guest room was thrown open with a bang, and they collectively braced themselves for some violent impact. Billy didn't even think before he put himself between the door and the sleeping body of Steve, but he had nothing to fear.

"Guys, this is so fucking weird." Dustin and Max crashed into the space, holding a crow bar. And a very distinctive nail bat.

Billy felt himself go cold-- he'd only seen that bat once before, just in passing. When Steve had briefly left the bedroom so long ago, and the handle had stuck out from under the bed. He hadn't mentioned it, for fear of Steve shutting down, shutting him out when Billy was so desperate to know what the Hell was wrong.

Now, he supposed, he knew.

He understood now, why Steve was so traumatized.

And now, that same bloodstained bat was back. In the grip of his own sister.

"Where the Hell did you get that?"

"It was in Steve's trunk." Dustin chattered, wide eyed "We knew we had to run if we were going to get weapons, and--"

"You went OUTSIDE?!" Billy, Nancy, Joyce and Hopper all exclaimed at the same time.

"With that THING, Max?! Are you fucking kidding me?!" Billy continued, and she fixed him with a disbelieving stare. She scoffed.

"Careful, Asshole, people will think you actually care." It was a rolling of her eyes-- as if this wasn't a life or death situation, as if Billy wouldn't be the one catching Hell if something happened to his sister-- that made him finally snap. He shot out with a hand the short distance to Max and gripped her by the arm. Tight enough to hurt.

"I don't give a shit about you." he hissed with as much vitriol as he could, but it was dampened by the memory of Steve, delirious and tired, saying "I give a shit about you. I really fuckin' do, Jesus Christ...". Billy's anger was sapped, but he still held Max too tightly and glared at her with as much violence as he could manage "Who d'you think is gonna get fucking murdered if something happens to you, huh?" it came out a harsh whisper, as he thought about how, if Steve didn't survive this, he couldn't do anything but let Neil beat him. He wouldn't care if he died.

Max looked teary, but some sort of intelligence passed between the two of them. She could see right through him now, and it was a horrible vulnerability that layered onto his existing terror.

There was a moment of quiet, as if no one could find the words to get the two siblings apart.

"It's okay, Billy. You-- You're just scared. I..." Max stumbled over the words, sneaking glances at Steve, sleeping behind them. Billy's other hand was still clenched into a fist over Steve's slack one. Then she scanned over Billy's face until she seemed to understand something new. "D'you really think Neil would kill you?"

"Fuck you, Max."

He pushed her away like she was poison. The eyes of the Chief, of that psychic Jane girl, even Nancy Wheeler's, were all boring into him. It made him itch for a smoke.

Like it or not (and he didn't), these people knew him now.

There were more important things, though. More important than any of them, and definitely more important than Billy.

Another screech echoed through the trees around and into the house.

Steve made a pitiful, pained noise at the same time, and Billy felt a burning pain radiate through his shoulder. It was gone as fast as it came, though, and Hopper thankfully changed the subject.

"What do we know here? Kid--" he looked to the little curly haired girl. She looked stoic. "Anything you can fill us in on?"

"It's not strong enough yet." she replied, and Billy could almost fool himself into thinking that she wasn't even scared. "There's nothing out there that can hurt us."

"Yet." the little Byers boy chimed in "The Mind Flayer doesn't have enough control over Steve to make the demogorgens and the Upside Down more tangible than noise."

"So..." Nancy furrowed her brow "We're safe? How do we keep it from getting stronger?"

"Besides waking Steve up? We don't know." That was Nancy's brother. Billy forgot his name, but he didn't really care.

They all continued rehashing and rehashing old information, and Billy stifled his irritation by taking the sleeping boy in, scanning him for any new injuries.

Steve looked dead. Pale and ghostly, bruised and battered, there was a wash of gray over his skin. Like the color of his infected back. It was spreading. His narrow chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, and Billy felt his own breathing become thinner along with him.

He was tired. The chills washed over him like a wave, and he tried not to think about it, brushing a lock of greasy brown hair off of Steve's head. A new spike of pain rippled out through his body from his shoulder, and Billy faltered as he slid a hand across Steve's forehead. Steve was burning up with fever.

"Why can't we just shake him awake?" he absently heard Joyce suggest, and as much as he liked her, he couldn't really help the scoff that bubbled up from his throat.

"What's so funny?" Sinclair crossed his arms.

"You really think it would make it that easy?" The Wheeler kid piped up, annoying as ever, but Billy had to admit that he was right.

The boys start to argue, and Billy is about to cut in, when suddenly the psychic girl is close to his side. He jumps a little, taken aback, and the burning in his shoulder is ignited again. It's stronger now.

"You're hurt." She says, and Billy doesn't really know how to reply.

"Honey, what's wrong?" Joyce is there too, then. The attention is on him again, and Billy's getting really sick of this.

"Nothin--" he couldn't quite make the words out, though, his breath getting thinner with another wave of chills and hot pain. It's confusing and disorienting, and Billy's irritation rises "Any of you geniuses have an actual plan? Cus, this thing's only getting stronger."

"D'you know something we don't, Hargrove?" Jonathan Byers's voice grated at his fraying nerves. "Why do you know anything about this thing?" 

"Cus I do, Dickhead--" he snapped before turning to Jane "Tell me I'm wrong, Psychic Girl."

She only nods woodenly, fixing him with an inscrutable stare. "It hurt you."

Steve was getting worse. Billy could feel him shivering under his hand, and one glance back showed him looking pinched and tense.

They had no idea how little time they had.

"This isn't important right now-- the longer he sleeps, the more real these demo-things are gonna get!" He ground out.

"How do you know that?" Hopper waited a beat before saying, looking between Billy and his daughter. "Kid, I get that you two have got your secrets, but you're putting yourself in danger. Steve, too."

He didn't care if he died. He really didn't, but Steve made another agonized little hiccup of a noise. Billy stared at him hard, trying to calculate what their odds were.

The odds didn't matter, though. He loved Steve. He didn't care if there wasn't a single chance that they'd survive, because he had to try. Either way, soon Steve wouldn't hurt anymore.

"The first night-- when he got his back all carved up-- I.. I was there." saying it out loud felt weirdly freeing, almost as much as being able to kiss Steve had felt. It loosened something in his chest to say it. "It was the first night that I got him to sleep for longer than a few hours, and when I first woke up to this screaming sound, I thought that.. I thought it was him, waking up from one of his nightmares, but then something sliced right into my shoulder. I didn't know what the Fuck was going on, but, I noticed the blood after that. It was just everywhere..." he swallowed hard against the bile clawing up his throat. He was cold, a burning heat settled behind his eyes, and his shoulder was pulsing like it had when it first happened. "It took me almost five full minutes to shake him awake. I thought he was dead until he finally started to really get breathin' again. I couldn't see the damn thing, and once he was awake, it was gone. But, it managed to hurt me even though I couldn't see it."

They had to work fast.

"I need to see it." Jane said after a beat of tense silence. There were twigs breaking and noises in the woods beyond the window, and Billy could swear he felt eyes on them, like they were being stalked.

"Steve's the most important thing here-- we don't have time--" he started, but then Dustin was in front of him, putting a hand on his good shoulder like he was trying to be his friend or something. Billy was sure he made a face.

"Look, we both hate each other." he started with, which wasn't the best "But we have Steve in common, and we don't have time for you to be a dick about it-- if you wanna help him, trust the weirdo." he gestured at Jane.

Billy just nodded begrudgingly. He looked back at Steve's gray, colorless face before taking a deep breath and gritting his teeth against the tugging sensation of his injury. He pulled his long sleeve thermal over his head, forcing himself now to cry out against the pain.

What had previously been a clean, safely healing series of three gashes, was violent, red and white mass, with black veins spidering into the tan skin.

This thing was already stronger than they thought.

There was another howling cry from outside, and there was definitely more than one.

Joyce gasped, Hopper ran a hand down his face, looking easily ten years older than his age as he took in the sight. They couldn't seem to tear themselves away from Billy and his bare chest. Some, however, weren't only looking at his shoulder.

Billy wasn't as lucky as Steve in some respects. The most prevalent right then, was that he healed slower. His bruises, when Neil really laid into him, could take two weeks to disappear completely, even though the pain faded quite faster.

He had bruises. They were all over him, strategically placed where they wouldn't be seen, save for the black eye that was the closest to fading. The bruises were no longer distinct fist marks, yellowing back into his skin tone, thanks to Joyce Byers and the cream he'd just about gone through.

He and Hopper made eye contact. Something passed between them that left Billy feeling strange, unsure.

He looked to Jane as a means of breaking the silence. "You have a plan of how to stop this thing?"

She nodded.

There was a scratching noise at the front door. A screech answered by a booming reply of more howling. Like a wolf pack.

"I'd get a move on then, Kid."

Things moved slowly, and then everyone sprung into action at once. Hopper and Nancy left, coming back with armloads of guns, Jonathan and Joyce were sent to get the TV from the living room, and the kids started putting everything in motion.

"You can do it, El. Just come back safe, okay?" the Wheeler kid was saying, perched on the mattress, mirroring Billy and Steve as the curly haired girl (El?) laid down beside Steve's body.

"It'll be okay, Mike." her little voice sounded sure, and Billy felt almost relaxed to hear it.

They kissed then, a chaste childlike press of lips, and it strangled his chest to see. He wasn't sure if it was good or bad.

He just looked down at Steve, then.

The other kids set up a series of radios, setting all of them to empty static. The TV, as well.

Soon, it was all ready, and it sunk in that this was their only chance. Steve wouldn't wake up unless this little girl could save him.

He was still looking down, fixating on the pained look etched into the sweet features of his... boyfriend? They had never talked about it. All he wanted then was to talk about it-- to talk about anything with the stupid idiot. He wanted to hear his voice, clear and laughing and untainted by exhaustion and hallucinations.

"Billy." He snapped up to see Jane looking at him again. "I'll bring him back to you."

He opened his mouth, but all that came out was a strangled, breathy huff of a laugh.

He wished he could bring himself to believe her.

_It was so dark. A dim blue light was his only means of seeing in the familiarly squishy, musty environment, but his eyes were better adjusted than he thought they'd be._

_His back was also, by some miracle, free of the pain he'd gotten so used to. He felt alert in a way that he hadn't in so long. Despite the air being soupy and dank, Steve took a long inhale, unafraid of hurting himself like he had been before._

_He had other things to be afraid of._

_"Hello?" He called-- this wasn't like his typical dreams. The kids weren't there to be saved, there was no circle of light to indicate the way out. Billy wasn't there to be mauled._

_He was alone._

_He wandered for what felt like both hours and minutes. Panic started to set in, as every turn mirrored the past ones, and Steve was completely alone, buried in the ground, entombed in the Upside Down. He'd go insane here, he'd starve here, he'd die here. Did anyone even know he was here?_

_This had to be a dream. It had to be._

_He turned another corner, though, just at the end of his rope, and things started looking more familiar. It was the hub. It was blackened and charred from what he and the kids had done, and he felt strangely like he was trespassing. He stepped slowly and carefully over the dead, crunching vines. He heard Billy's voice, irritable, in his head-- "Plant your feet, Harrington". It made him chuckle._

_But, he might never see him again._

_Approaching the center of the large space, his eye was caught by a bright gleam from something small, nestled in the vines._

_He crouched down, ignoring the squelch and snap of vines under foot. Brushing away the ashes, he picked out the glistening remains of his own lighter. It felt like forever ago that he had set this place ablaze. Since Billy fucking Hargrove beat him into the ground. Since he rode in a car driven by a thirteen year old girl who'd only ever driven in a parking lot._

_He wasn't sure what had happened. Where things had gone even further awry. When the gate was closed, they were supposed to be safe._

_"Steve!" there was a call echoing through the gloom. His head snapped up to the labyrinth of tunnels leading away from the hub, unable to decipher what had come from where._  
_"_ _Steve, where are you!?" the voice came again, and it sounded like a kid. It sounded like one of the kids, and he felt like his blood was replaced with ice water at the thought._

_He opened his mouth, about to call out in reply, when there was a vine suddenly gripping his wrist. It snaked up his arm and tugged him down, smashing him face first into the ash and slime mingling on the floor._

_A strangled cry was forced from his lips as the vines gripped him from all angles, but it wasn't long before a thick braid of the vines wrapped around his mouth and sealed it shut._

_He couldn't breathe._

_He couldn't think._

_Everything had been reduced to ash and soot and the dusty earth of the Upside Down. Tears squeezed out from under his lashes, and--_

_"Steve!" came the voice again._

_The vines were gone as fast as they'd come._

_Jane Hopper was standing, hands up, feet planted, looking intensely around. He stared for a moment, as if it was the only thing he could do, before she looked concernedly at him, and he managed to gather the brainpower to rise to his feet._

_"Jane?"_

_"Steve." she acknowledged him before taking his hand and leading him down a tunnel that he could have sworn that he had just come from._

_As she tugged him along, though, he saw that the tunnel had changed. There were tunnels shooting off of it, like a river's tributaries (so what if Dustin had had to tell him what that was, he knew it now). Each of the tunnels led to a different scene, making Steve think of that game show that came on sometimes while he was filling the empty silence of his house. The one with Door Number 1, 2, 3, etc._

_The girl stopped him before he could enter the first one he saw, continuing to pull him to the dead end of the tunnel._

_The scene inside struck him with a startling and terrifying familiarity, like the tunnels themselves, but nearly worse._

_It was his dad's study. The colors of the world as he knew it bathed the room in warm lamplight. The thick, leather bound books of tax law and tariffs and other things Steve could never hope to understand lined the walls. The man himself sat behind his massive hard wood desk-- the one that made him think of Billy, spreading him across the dark surface and gripping his hips like he'd disappear if he let go--_

_Steve blushed. Jane was staring at him, still barring him from entering._

_"This isn't the Upside Down. It's your mind."_

_What?_

_"What?"_

_"The Mind Flayer is occupying your memories, but instead of erasing them like it did with Will, it's turning them against you. In each of these memories, we think there's a part of the Mind Flayer...and I might be able to get it to show itself." she continued. The shade of his father was looking up at him, very nearly straight through him with an expression Steve had seen more than a few times: disappointment._

_"You think?" He layered in the skepticism, trying to ignore the steady gaze he encountered so rarely now._

_"Yeah." he didn't catch his tone, and he should have known "Wherever the infection is, we need to kill it."_

_The idea of ending this was too appealing, but he had to ask "What if it destroys my memory, though?" Jane looked at him funny, like she didn't understand, and he cleared his_ _throat before reiterating "What if, by killing the things where the Mind Flayer is hiding, I erase that from my memory?"_

_She didn't seem like she had thought about it. Her brown eyes went incrementally wider, and she pursed her little lips together. After a moment, Jane simply shook her head._

_"It's the best we have. We have to try."_

_He didn't know how to say that they didn't have to, that they could let him die. But, he knew that wouldn't satisfy this thing, just having him. It wanted to have them all, and it would use Steve as a stepping stone._

_They had to try._

_"Steve!" the voice was barely recognizable, distantly familiar. His dad wasn't looking at him anymore, he was frowning down at the paper in his hands."Steven!" Steve realized with a pang which memory this was, and had to force his feet into the room._

_With him came Jane, who was a comfort despite how personal this memory was. But then there was someone else as well._

_A young boy about Jane's age, with fluffy brown hair and a sour expression, entered the room from absolute nowhere. He had big brown eyes and his hands shoved shyly in his pockets._

_It was Steve._

_This little Steve knew the look on his father's face as well as Steve himself did, and he knew what was coming._

_"Steven, do you know what I'm holding?" Sam Harrington looked down his nose at his only son and Steve felt the acrid bile of shame and anxiety clawing up his throat, even without his gaze physically on him._

_"My, my.."_

_"We've talked about the mumbling."_

_"My report card... Sir." the littler Steve replied, louder this time._

_"No need to shout, Steven." he rolled his eyes, and Steve and his smaller self both crossed their arms defensively. "You've never been a good listener, I suppose I should have seen this coming." by the end he was spitting out the words, and Steve's anger melted into a deep pit of self loathing that burned in his gut._

_"I-I'm sorry, Dad, I--"_

_"What did you call me?" he cut in, raising one eyebrow and pursing his lips._

_"S-Sir. I'm sorry, Sir." he stumbled over the words, his heartbeat quickening in his chest, just like his younger self._

_His father nodded, looking back to the report card on his desk. Somehow, Steve felt more scrutinized then when he'd been looking at him. The little boy squirmed as his father made him wait for whatever he would say next._

_"I'm disappointed, Steven. You continually disappoint me." He lit up a cigarette, his eyes hard and fiery "Do you know what this does to me? I'm an incredible man, Son. I'm a pillar of the Hawkins community: I provide jobs to over 25,000 people from here to Chicago to New York. I hold my family to a higher standard then i would anyone else, of course. Because you're supposed to be the best-- like me. Like your mother." his tone was soft and measured, and little Steve nearly jumped out of his skin then, when the man slammed his hand down on the desk, flattening the report card under his palm. "I received a letter today, from your principal, do you know what it said?"_

_He paused, fixing Steve with a look. The little boy was nearly in tears, and Steve himself felt his eyes well up and shame dig itself into him like the demogorgen fangs and claws._

_Like the demogorgen._

_He knew exactly what the letter said._

_There was a change in Sam Harrington somewhere throughout the berating of his son. His tone was more gravelly that Steve could recall, his eyes were sharper. His hands looked strange. He couldn't remember, though, whether or not this was what his dad was like. He hadn't seen him in months. Hadn't talked to him for longer._

_"It said that you, Steven Harrington, my only child, was too stupid to pass his midterms. At this point," he bit out every word and thirteen year old Steve was crying in earnest now. Steve wanted to hold him. "you'll be repeating the 8th grade."_

_It was then that a little hand curled into his, and he pulled his eyes from the scene. He'd forgotten Jane was there._

_"I've found a tutor for you-- the best money can buy. Steven, I won't be disappointed by you again, do you hear me? Not without consequences." He was standing, growling now. Steve felt like he was going to throw up. Jane gave his hand a squeeze, and he remembered why they were there._

_"Y-Yes. Yes, Sir.."_

_He should have seen it sooner, really. His dad wasn't wrong, he wasn't too smart, but soon it made itself all too clear: there was a line forming down his face. Then it started to split. An oozing started at the point where it turned red and bloody. This was not his father._

_His face continued to rupture, peeling away into petals of fangs and gore. Steve itched for his bat, some kind of weapon. How was he supposed to kill this thing?_

_Somehow, without really thinking about it, Steve knew that the thing was eyeing him now, not his younger self. Jane pressed something into his hand, and the moment he looked away, it gave the creature a chance to strike._

_It was the poker from the hearth in the corner of the study. That was what Jane had given him, and he swung up to catch it under the jaw, leaving it dazed. The adrenaline carried him through, and he didn't even notice the way that the study had dampened, becoming musty like the rest of the Upside Down as he beat the Demogorgen into a pulpy mess of red and gray and dark oozing colors. It was still wearing his father's clean and pressed suit. Steve didn't acknowledge how satisfying it was to finally let out that anger at his dad._

_He didn't stop until Jane pulled him back by the shoulders._

_"Steve, Steve.. It's okay. We have more. C'mon, I need to get you home." She tugged at his hand, but he didn't let go of the poker, and they rushed on to the next memory._

_This one was darker. What light there was, though, was warm and calming. This was just a few months ago, he remembered, catching on faster than before. This was the Byers's house, just after the Gate was closed for good._

_Billy hadn't been there when they'd gotten back, and they all shook off a degree of their apprehension about that. All of them were too exhausted to really focus, but adrenaline helped to keep them awake. Will and Jane were both sleeping, but they were the only ones._

_"Hey Sweetie-- how're you feelin'?" Joyce was hovering over where Steve was reclined on the couch. Steve remembered that concussion like it was yesterday-- the world spun, he felt like he was going to throw up, his skull throbbed, making his eyes feel like they were bulging out._

_He groaned in reply to the woman, managing a "I'll be okay, really, I'll be outta your hair soon.." when she shushed him, touching his head so gently._

_"Don't you even think about moving. Hop's gonna take a look at you. We're thinking you might need a hospital--"_

_"No! Nununu No. I'm fine, No hospital-- please, Mrs. Byers."_

_Her warm brown eyes went even softer as she shushed him again, furrowing her brow._

_"Call me Joyce, Hon."_

_No one had ever been so.. maternal. He had never had this before. Steve and Jane, where they watched on, could see it plainly on the injured Steve's face. His eyes were so big and plaintive, like Joyce had just told him the best, most moving news of his life. Joyce must've seen it, too. She brushed his hair away from his forehead, trying to smile, even though she was clearly uncomfortable._

_"Steve? Kiddo, what's the matter?"_

_Steve didn't remember this part._

_"You're jus'... Joyce, you're so nice. Why're you so goddamn nice to me?" he was crying-- or at least, almost crying-- and Steve, watching, was so confused. Had this really happened? Where was the demogorgen?_

_People were milling around as if there was something to do at this point. The window that the demodog had been thrown through was boarded up, The kids had cleaned up the glass. Hopper was sitting with Jane and Will while Joyce finished the cleaning._

_The kids were in the kitchen, shivering over cups of Swiss Miss cocoa, torn between celebrating a job well done and lamenting their combination of exhaustion and leftover shock._

_Steve noticed it sooner this time-- the way that the house started to get darker. Then, the ash started to float in the air. His back even started to hurt as he watched himself, pouring his heart out to Joyce Byers. They were all the things that he wished he could say to her-- this was the moment, too. This memory was of the first time he didn't just realize that his own parents didn't care, but how a parent was supposed to treat you._

_Sure, he had wanted to say all of this. But, he hadn't. He hadn't, had he?_

_He had been expecting a demogorgen to come out of nowhere, to reenact one of his horrible nightmares-- he didn't expect Joyce Byers, sitting on the couch with him, to throw up some otherworldly slug when she opened her mouth to speak. Steve gripped his fire poker, but couldn't bring himself to use it._

_Was the Mind Flayer infecting Joyce?_

_Then, there was a terrible scream._

_Running, Steve and Jane screeched to a halt in the threshold of the kitchen-- this was definitely a dream now. This was more terrible than any memory._

_The kids at the table: Mike, Lucas, Max, and Dustin, all writhed where they sat. The sickening crack of bones and the screams of his name echoed into his skull, rattling around with enough force to give him another concussion._

_He couldn't do it. His grip on the poker tightened desperately as he realized what he had to do, but he couldn't do it. He could never do this._

_Lucas's skull split with an agonized yell-- they were turning into demodogs. Steve threw up._

_"I can't do this-- Jane, I.. Jane, help! I don't know how to do this!" he cried, tears streaming down his face now "There has to be another way, I can't kill them!"_

_She looked terrified. Her own eyes were wide and wet with tears, and she was squeezing Steve's hand so tight that she might break his knuckles._

Steve was crying. There were tears slipping regularly out from under his dark lashes, and Billy's heart was breaking. The little girl next to him was shaking, a sluggish nosebleed gaining a more steady flow. Her ears even looked suspiciously red, dark, like they were hemorrhaging, too.

They had barricaded the door with a bookcase, but ultimately it had done them no good. The window was smashed, the boards splintered into tiny shards-- something was here with them. Billy could hear it everywhere, the growling, the creaking of the floor. It drove him crazy, but it had it's uses.

He could hear it when it finally made it's move-- he pulled Dustin and Lucas out of the way, just in time for a shriek to pierce the air. The door to the guest room rattled violently, like someone (something) was trying to get in.

The reflection in the mirror revealed another. It stalked to the bed, and he shouted, trying to warn the others, throwing himself across the two bodies on the bed. Suddenly, though, they could all see it in that mirror.

It was getting stronger.

"Billy, look out!" Jonathan yelled, and Nancy pointed and shot the gun Hopper gave her. Another otherworldly scream shook their bones, and Billy was o fucking cold-- his fever was climbing, and standing was a difficult business. He felt like he'd gone ten rounds with his dad, and he wasn't quite sure what happened, but the scream that followed was definitely not that of the Demogorgen.

Joyce Byers was slumping to the ground, stumbling back into the Chief's chest, bleeding from her arm.

Billy got up after that.

It was terror. It was an absolute horror movie in that room.

The demodogs flickered in and out of their sight, appearing to move in slow motion, or like marionettes on strings. Even without the mirror, they could see them. The noise was unbearable. Billy gripped the gun Hopper had given him, but it still felt all but useless. His brain was foggy, and he didn't dare move too far from Steve's side.

"MAX!" Sinclair tugged back on some little thing in his hands, shooting a rock directly into the path of a demodog-- distracting it away from Billy's sister.

"A slingshot!? Are you fucking' kidding me?" Billy heard himself saying. Lucas looked at him with way more attitude than the situation should allow for.

"It's a Wrist Rocket, and I just saved Max-- you're welcome!"

Right then, another one of the dogs lunged right for the little boy, and Billy was grabbing the nail bat without thinking and swung with all his might.

"Consider us even." he mumbled, even getting a small smile from Sinclair before an agony that he had never experienced tore through his shoulder-- it had already been throbbing, pulsing with infection, but now, with a demodog locking it's fangs into the thick of the muscle, he felt like his arm might come clean off.

He wasn't sure who fired off the shot that saved him, but Jonathan and Max were at his side in an instant, helping him stay upright in the immediate head rush that followed the jaws releasing him. He fell back to the bed where he'd been sitting at Steve's side. His hand landed back over Steve's, and he squeezed it for some type of strength to continue.  
Will Byers was not a boy meant to fight-- at least, not in the physical, violent sense. He and the Wheeler kid-- Mike, as his sister cried, and Billy finally knew his fucking name-- were trying just to keep up. Mike, like Billy, wasn't willing to move too far from the bed, and Will stuck right by his side.

They were coming from all sides. There were demodogs, coming from the bathroom, the window, the barricaded door was their last refuge, keeping those other creatures at bay.

There was nowhere safe left to go.

_Steve might have blacked out._

_He wasn't sure what happened._

_One minute, there was a horror movie in front of his eyes, but now there was nothing but a dark, slimy version of the Byers's kitchen with a slew of limp demodogs on the floor._

_Blood was everywhere. Something black and not-quite a fluid, but not a gas, flowed across the floor, from the bodies._

_Steve's back was hurting more._

_Jane still had her hand outstretched toward the carnage, blood trickling from her nose and ears, now._

_"T-thanks." he said dumbly._

_"Let's go." she rasped, taking his hand with a much weaker grip. This time, it was more like him leading her as they went back out into the main tunnel._

_There was one more scene. They were almost there._

_He felt like he had been doused with cold water, though, when he looked into the entrance to the tunnel._

_It was more of the tunnels-- a familiar stretch of them with a circle of bright blue light beaming down from the middle. A rope hung down from the hole in the ceiling, and there were the kids. His kids were trying to get up, the shadows and echoing feet of the demodogs getting closer and closer. But Steve wasn't there- why wasn't he there?!_

_They were screaming, crying, desperate to pull themselves up, but not strong enough to manage on their own._

_Before he registered what was happening, as his back started to burn more and more, and his brain started to go foggy, Steve was running toward the group. Jane called after him, following more slowly, but he wasn't listening._

_He couldn't just leave them._

_He started with Max, lifting her out of the tunnel where she could grip. Then, he hefted Lucas out, ignoring the strain of his quickly deteriorating back muscles. Then Mike followed. He turned then, to get Dustin, but he stumbled back at who he saw._

_"Hey there, Pretty Boy."_

_Billy grinned, doing that stupid tongue thing that Steve hated that he was into. There was a cigarette in his hand._

_"Bi-Billy?" he stuttered, words suddenly harder to come by. "What're you doing here?"_

_He shrugged like it was no big deal. Like he was about to shove Steve to the ground and beat on him, tell him to plant his feet "Just waiting, Harrington. Just like you are." he blew out his smoke, and it made him look like a dragon._

_"W-wait-Wating?"_

_"To die, Sweetheart. Isn't that what you're waiting for? I mean, will you really be able to live with yourself when you wake up and I'm already dead?" he was stepping closer, pressing Steve to the wall like it was the lockers after basketball practice. He wished that Billy would kiss him one last time._

_"Baby, I--"_

_"Baby? Baby. Now, I'm Baby." he laughed without a trace of humor, without the little crinkle in his eyes and the way he wrinkled his nose "I'm Baby because you're trying to make yourself feel better-- you're so guilty, Harrington. You dragged me into this shit. And now I'm dying."_

_"Steve!" Jane had caught up. She was exhausted, bleeding and shaking. "Steve, don't listen to it--"_

_"All of us, Steve. Your kids, your boy, your family. We're dying up there without you. Dying for your sake, to protect you-- mediocre, stupid, queer, forgettable little you--"_

_"Steve!" she cried again._

_Steve's back was on fire, but the rest of him was freezing. The demodogs were coming, breathing was labored. The air was thicker, soupy and toxic. Billy fisted his shirt in his hand and forced Steve against the vine covered wall. Steve screamed, gripping Billy's hand with his own._

_Then he saw it. The inky black spider veins under his skin, pulsing like they had their own heartbeat. Their own separate existence from Steve._

_It was him._

_"Jane! Jane, the rest of the Mind Flayer is still in me, isn't it?" He called, looking away from his dream of Billy, who was starting to profusely bleed from his shoulder._

_This was it._

_"I'm going to die here, Jane. I know I will." He was crying again. He was sick of crying, but at least he was holding Billy's hand. The Mind Flayer must not have realized how kind that was._

_"Steve, no-- I need you to trust me." Jane's voice was stronger, and she forced herself to stand straighter. "You're going home, Steve."_

_He chuckled tiredly "I can't believe that, kid."_

_"I promise."_

_Before he could properly think to reply, there were demodogs everywhere, and Jane was raising her hands._

_There was a blinding pain, like his spine was splitting him in two, forcing him apart. Like an eruption. Jane was screaming, but so was he._

At some point, the fighting started to ebb away. There was enough time for Joyce to get patched up, everyone checked over for just a quick second, and Billy's shoulder to be examined. It hurt like a bitch, but not like before. There was no infection. There was no fever.

Both of the people in the bed were still breathing, and Steve's color was rapidly returning.  
  
They knew they had won, but they still had to wait.

Jane woke up first. Billy had expected gasping for breath and bolting upright from her spot on the bed, but her eyes opened lazily and she lolled her head over to look at Steve.

He was still motionless.

"Steve..." She mumbled, using one clumsy little hand to shake his shoulder, trying to force him awake. "S-Steve, wake up. S-STEVE." she was crying, her eyes red with tears and tiny hemorrhages. She looked a mess, but Billy could barely spare a second for her.

"C'mon, Harrington, get up. Get up, Sweetheart, you can do it..." he was muttering under his breath, anything that came to mind.

It wasn't nearly as long as it felt before Steve gasped and sputtered, taking deep, shuddering breaths. Everyone pulled in close, but Billy could give two shits. He only had eyes for the big brown ones staring back up at him. He looked dazed for a minute, confused, but then some sort of switch flipped. Steve looked like himself. He was alert, eyes bright and glistening with tears when he finally recognized Billy.

He smiled. A real grin that the other boy couldn't help but return.

"B-Billy?" his voice was a tired rasp, but he bolted up and wrapped his arms around Billy's neck in less than a second. "Hey, hey Baby, I--" he cut himself off, burying his face in the crook of his neck and kissing at the column of his throat, smiling against his skin. He smelled like sweat and blood, but Billy couldn't bring himself to care. Both of them cried into it when they finally kissed, and while Billy's tears might have been (partially) from the stupid bite in his shoulder, he wouldn't trade this for the world.

He wouldn't even comment on being called "Baby". Seriously?

Wrapped up in the moment, he realized suddenly that he'd been gripping Steve's back. He let go in an instant, pulling back to look the other boy over for telltale signs of the agony from before.

"How's your back? Are you hurtin'?" he tried to pull away, despite Steve's protests, and whirled around to his back. Dustin threw himself at Steve, saying something about stupid lovebirds and Steve's terrible taste.

Billy lifted the back of the other boy's shirt, making Steve squawk indignantly again, but he continued to cut away bandages. Max helped to pull the filthy gauze wrappings away from his skin, and halted immediately, staring in shock and awe.

"They're nothing but cuts. There's no infection, not even regular infection." he said aloud, as if it wouldn't be true unless someone else saw it. Some of them were nearly healed.

It felt like a long while before the group finally started to back off, but it was actually only about five minutes. Steve, at some point, started leaning back, resting himself against Billy's good shoulder like he just couldn't keep himself upright anymore.

"You doin' okay?" He whispered, tucking himself in close to the other boy, his own exhaustion setting in.

Steve nodded weakly.

"I think it's time for some rest, huh?" Joyce spoke up, checking both of them one more time for any trace of fever. Billy didn't even pull away or resist the soft touch.

Begrudgingly, Billy went to move away from the other boy to help him lie back down, but Steve made a sweet little noise and grabbed onto his wrist. Of his bad arm. Billy winced a little, and despite his exhaustion, Steve was still quick to notice.

"What's wrong?" he slurred, already falling back to sleep "What 'appened? Billy..."

"You need to get some sleep, Steve. Go to sleep."

"Jus' don't go. Will you stay?" his big brown eyes stared right through him, he didn't stand a chance. He floundered for a second, though-- this was the Chief's house, he lived here, and Billy still had no idea how the guy would feel about two queers sharing his guest room.

Not that he was scared of Hopper or anything. Not that he reminded him of his dad at all.

Respect and responsibility.

There was a hand on his back then, and he jumped before he could help it. It was just Joyce.

"We'll move El-- Jane to her room." she smiled her own tired little smile "You're gonna stay here with Steve, okay? Keep an eye on him." She looked over his shoulder, and Billy knew she was saying something to Hopper with her stern gaze.

"O-Okay."

Steve was still holding his wrist, looking up at him. It was impossible to resist.

Soon, everyone was filtering out of the room. Dustin and a couple of the other kids were talking about staying, too, which made Billy want to laugh, but he was too exhausted and weary. Steve curled close and rested his head on his chest, just like so many times before, but it was somehow different now. It felt better and worse and Billy just held the other boy tighter as they both drifted off.

Steve woke up feeling warm for the first time in what felt like forever.

He turned over, though, and he was alone.

He was up like a shot, not even taking the time to realize the lack of pain in his torso-- just a twinge now-- as his chest tightened. Getting up, he stumbled a few times before making it to the door.

"Billy?"

"Whoa whoa there, Kiddo, it's okay." That was Hopper with a hand around his upper arm, holding him back from the door.

"Where's Billy?"

"He had to go see his dad. Lay back down, Steve, c'mon." That was Dustin. He was using that stupid tone that made Steve roll his eyes, the Dart Tone. Like he was a wounded animal.

There was a long few seconds where Steve didn't quite process what Dustin had said. And then suddenly he was panicking.

"He went to see his DAD?!" he choked out "He's gonna fucking die--"

"Hey there, what the Hell are you talkin' about?" Hopper came and sat on the edge of the mattress. "The kid talked to his sister before he left, about 20 minutes ago. She said that if he wasn't back in an hour, than I should stop by."

"This guy is scary, Chief, I don't know what he's capable of." he wasn't sure what to do or what to say. He knew he was only digging Billy a hole, forcing him to address this with the group. But, all he could think of was the bruises Billy had come to his house with all those times, the black eye he'd shown up to the cabin with. Billy always closed off so fast when Steve asked.

Billy was terrified of his dad.

And now he was going back for the first time in God knows how long, after willfully disobeying him and not bringing Max home.

"Did he take Max with him?"

"No--" Hopper started, maintaining a calm tone like the professional he was. Steve wondered if this was an interrogation, but Dustin cut in and said:

"Yeah, she was so mad-- He yelled at her to stay here where she wouldn't get hurt, and she's been sitting on the porch ever since."

Steve took a deep breath and finally took in his surroundings as some means of keeping his cool. The window was blown out and boarded up, but light still shown in through the slats. The mirror was broken, the bookcase had moved over by the door, pushed aside.

What the Hell had even happened?

His head was clear for the first time in what had to be a week. He was achy and somehow still a little tired, but he was feeling better than he could remember since before this whole thing first started. Since the gate was closed.

He smelled. He, like, reeked something terrible. Like blood and sweat and grime. He was crusted over and greasy and his chest was still tight with panic.

"Steve, I need a straight answer: Is Billy's dad abusing him?"

"I-I need to take a shower..." he stuttered, the idea of saying plainly what he had only ever assumed making the words stick in his throat.

Hopper looked like he wanted to fight it. He wanted to keep talking, but Steve got up before anything could be said. The Chief and Dustin's eyes both followed him, and he paused in the threshold of the en suite bathroom.

"Look, I-- yeah. Yes, there's something going on, but I've never physically seen anything and Billy's never admitted it. I'm going to shower now, and you should ask Max about all this."

The shower was hot. He didn't think anything had ever felt so good. He scrubbed himself pink, washed his hair twice, took an exceedingly long time. The mirror was fogged, but he almost looked like himself through the haze. His chest and back were striped with long claw marks that he was sure would scar. But he was okay with that, as long as it was all over now.

Everyone stared as he entered the living room. Joyce was making lunch-- it was 1 o clock, and Steve hadn't asked what day it was-- and the house was a little worse for wear, but everyone seemed happy enough. Nancy was was sitting with Jonathan and Will, Mike was teaching Jane how to play some like card game. Max and Lucas were apparently outside on the porch, like Dustin had said.

Speaking of Dustin, the kid slammed into him with a hug, and Steve barely stayed upright, but he still put his arms around him and squeezed him tight. He couldn't remember much from his time as a zombie-- mostly like snippets, like nightmares, half forgotten as a mercy. He remembered certain things, but the real question was what of those things were real.

So, when his kid looked up at him with wide eyes and said with no small amount of hurt "Why didn't you tell us?", he didn't actually know what he meant. Steve had never felt like he was hiding a great wealth of secrets, until the demogorgen and then Billy.

"I-I'm sorry, Bud." he said, not really sure what to, but he looked so sad. It only morphed to confusion, though, so Steve must've said the wrong thing.

"You always could have said... about you be-being queer. About your stupid parents, Billy fucking Hargrove--" he gave Steve a look than, reprimanding him for his bad taste "All of it."

It was overwhelming. A flood of memories hit him like a train, and he thought of Jonathan, staring wide eyed at him and Billy in the kitchen, Billy kissing him right in front of everyone, desperate to keep him lucid and alive. He had laughed at Joyce, asking him if his parents were worried about him, and walked with Hopper in the woods.

He had hidden all of this for far too long. He didn't know where to start. Everyone was staring at him, and he wondered if this was how Will felt-- being stared at and examined like he might explode.

It was Nancy that stood then, seeing the look on his face, and piped up "We've got time to talk about that later. C'mon, he's gotta be hungry." she pried Dustin off of him, and Steve couldn't deny that she was right-- he was starving.

The tension in his chest hadn't gone though, and he knew that it had been at least an hour since... "Is Billy back yet?"

Nancy pursed her lips then, and Jonathan said "Hopper's just starting the truck. I think Max is going with him. She looked like she'd been crying."

"Crying for that asshole?" Dustin crossed his arms.

"Hey-- that asshole saved our lives, in case you forgot." Lucas frowned, and Steve wanted to ask, but was distracted by a familiar engine outside.

The camaro tore up the driveway. Steve almost thought that he wasn't stopping, but Billy parked haphazardly and threw open his door.

Hopper was halfway in and out of his vehicle, watching intently just like Steve, as Billy sat in his car. He struck his hands out against the steering wheel, his face twisted into some mix of pain and rage and fear.

Steve couldn't see the damage until the other boy finally shoved open the door and stepped out. His face was bruised and nose was bloody, he walked a little gingerly. Steve couldn't control it, moving close to the boy without thinking, jogging up to him.

Billy halfheartedly pushed at his chest, shoving Steve away. He would've thought it was the rage and anger, but the small, broken sound he let out was too pathetic for the other boy to be afraid.

"Billy, lemme see."

"Fuck off, Harrington."

"Fuck you, let me look at you--" he planted his feet, grabbing Billy by both of his hands (his knuckles were bruised) and forcing him to look at him.

"Would you quit it, Asshole!?"

"No!" he shouted back, his anger dissipating when he looked at the blonde's red rimmed eyes. "Baby, Babe, c'mon. Let us take care of you-- we care. We all care."  
Billy was silent, glaring at Steve with a clenched jaw, but he was squeezing back at his hands. His chin trembled, and Hopper and Max were standing by, but Steve ignored them as well as he could. If Billy acknowledged them, they'd get nowhere.

He deflated, like Mr. Clarke's stupid balloon, like a marionette with cut strings. "Steve..." it was barely whisper, more like a whimper, broken and choked. Billy cried, and Steve tugged him in close, holding him as gingerly as he could without knowing where his injuries were.

"What's the damage?" he muttered into his ear, kissing his temple.

"N-Nothin' that won't heal... quit being a mother hen..." he muttered into his collarbone. Steve smiled.

Lunch was a quiet affair. Billy didn't eat, taking his own shower while Steve and the others ate leftovers from the fridge that Joyce and Hopper had tripped over each other to get heated and fixed up.

Dinner was when everyone started to disperse, back to their homes. the kids had missed two full days of school, and Steve was sure he was miles behind in his classes.

Jonathan took the kids back-- practically dragging them away from Steve, especially Dustin. Max and Will both stayed.

Hopper took Billy outside for "a smoke", but Steve knew what was happening. Everyone did. He was more than a little shocked, though, when whatever conversation they had went without fighting or yelling.

"You two are safe here." the Chief led in with, sitting them both on the couch. Steve felt like he was being interrogated again, faced by Hopper and Joyce from the loveseat across from them. "I'll be taking you and your sister into the station tomorrow--" he looked right at Billy, "We're gonna fill out some paper work. but for tonight, we're taking some pictures of those bruises. You--" he fixed his gaze on Steve and it was a little intense "You're always welcome here, you call me--"

"Or me!" Joyce smiled, waving with her good arm like he hadn't noticed her there before.

"Or Joyce, anytime. We'll also be dropping by your house while your parents are gone. Okay? You're not alone anymore."

Steve felt hot tears prick his eyes, but held them back. Emotions had been running high the past few days, and he honestly didn't think his stinging eyes could handle crying one more time. Billy took his hand.

The boys both nodded when Hopper requested an affirmative, eager to be alone. Billy took a drag on his cigarette like he was holding back a protest of some kind, but one look from the Chief kept him quiet.

They thought it was over, until Joyce turned around from the threshold to the kitchen. "You boys'll be in the guest room again tonight. Let one of us know if you need anything, okay?"

"And no funny business!" Hopper called from the kitchen. Billy actually laughed at that, and it made Steve feel warm to see him smile again, even if he was blushing like a lovesick loon.

He and Billy were able to finally sleep: no nightmares, no blood, no terror. The blonde curled up under Steve's arm, letting him hold him in a way the he usually would protest to, and they were both asleep within minutes.

Things were changing for the better.


End file.
